


Fool For You

by flowercrownfemme, lesbianferrissbueller



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Chicken Boat, Court Drama, Day Collars, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Realism, Feminine Harry, Feminization, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harry Is King James VI and I, Harry used to be a baker, Hellenic Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Jester Antics, Jester Louis, King Robin, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, M/M, No Cops At Pride Just Harry Styles And His Sword, No Relationship Angst/Drama, Original Farm Animal Characters - Freeform, Parent Death (Mentioned), Past Character Death, Period clothing, Pick someone supportive, Prince Harry Styles, Princess Harry Styles, Private Jest Sesh In The Private Jest Nest, Queen Gemma, Roses, Sad Harry, Secret Relationships, Swordplay, Tenderness, Touch-Starved Harry, geraldine the chicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-07 02:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownfemme/pseuds/flowercrownfemme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianferrissbueller/pseuds/lesbianferrissbueller
Summary: “It’s not a game.”Harry scoffed, trying to push past him once more but Louis held his ground.“And I’ve never once told you a lie.”“All you do is lie," Harry argued. "Jests and tricks and made up stories, that’s your trade. I’d never trust a word from your mouth.”“I tell stories,” Louis conceded, “but a good one must be based on truth. And my stories tend to get a bit more truthful when I’m around you, Princess.”In which Harry is a brooding prince who's scarcely smiled since the death of his mother and Louis is the dashing jester hired to change that.





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was conceptualized on August 9th 2018 at 9:51 AM when Noa texted me a picture of Harry Styles captioned "who did this. who let him look like a 15th century norweigan prince or whatever" and said "the servants whisper about him and how he'll never be the heir because he'll never take a wife but he's gonna do it anyway bc he doesn't give a shit" and then we started talking about the fairy tale where the princess wouldn't laugh and the king said that anyone who could make her laugh could marry her and then Stella yelled "Make Louis a jester! Court Jesters are always sexy!" and I Did Not agree with that statement but we did it anyway and now seven months later here we are! The jester fic!  
> This has been very fun to write and I've gotten incredibly attached to these versions of HL and I'm very excited to finally start posting <3  
> Thank you for reading!  
> -Chloe (flowercrownfemme)
> 
> P. S. Court jesters ARE sexy have u seen those dank fits? Also they have to be funny, play an instrument, and sing I am correct and my girlfriend agrees with me. All my love,   
> Stella

The cold air of Sommerstarr was a shock to the system after so long away from home and even draped in rich furs as he was Harry shivered in his seat as he watched the castle looming ever closer in the distance. He’d become accustomed to the warm sunshine of the French countryside, which had done well to warm his body even if it had done little to thaw his heart. As his carriage rolled from green grass and blue skies to grey cobblestone and lifeless leafless trees and storm clouds he felt his mood darken further. He had hoped that the familiar sight of home might ease the ache in his chest but it seemed to have become a permanent feature, like a newly grown limb or a pearly white scar. His father had been sure that a year in the countryside would restore him to his previous carefree ways − as though the fresh air would sweep the sadness straight out of him − but all it had done was take away his immunity to the cold of his homeland. He looked up out of the ornate carriage window, hoping to get some solace in the chance of a blue sky, but all his eyes met were grey, low hanging clouds.

    The days of blue skies and nights illuminated by the stars that the kingdom was named for were too many months away. Nights in Sommerstarr were only ever cold and cloudy until mid-June when the clouds burned away to reveal clear sparkling skies full of stars. Even when the near-constant gloom of the kingdom lifted in spring or fall the clouds never failed to disend by nightfall, hiding away the stars until the few fleeting months of summer when they would return. The stars seemed an infinity away from Harry’s cold carriage ride. He felt as if his gloom would never dissipate. 

Harry pulled the snowy white fox fur more tightly around him and clenched his jaw as he watched the land pass by around him, the carriage jostling as the horses before it stumbled over rocks in the worn-down path. There were men all around them, sat atop the sleek horses of war with their swords glinting in what little sunlight shown through the clouds, ready to kill in his honor − to die, if need be. He watched them, their hardened faces and shifting muscles, and wondered if he could really be worth dying for. A disgrace to the throne, shivering in velvet trunk hose and silk stockings, his skin soft and pink and delicate, so unlike them and their rugged, weathered leatherlike skin.

    The wheels that had carried him across miles of dirt and cobblestone rhythmically jostled across the wood panels of the drawbridge as the carriage was drawn past the outer walls of the palace. Harry deliberated for a moment on whether or not to lift his gaze. Perhaps if he didn't look up at the palace, it would still be just as he remembered it from years past. It would still have the blooming roses of late summer, the just-polished marble, the laughter echoing out of open windows. Perhaps his mother would still be behind one such window.

    He looked up.

    The roses were there, even in the dead of winter, but nothing else.

    No one had expected him as he was a day early. Windows were shut, doors closed. The carriage stopped and a footman pulled the door open. Harry rebuffed efforts to escort him inside, saying he would take one of the side entrances. His feet crunched on gravel as he crossed from the now full courtyard to the rose covered gate. Behind him, servants and footman swiftly unloaded his luggage, trying to pretend they weren't put off by the sudden and early arrival. Wanting to get away from the noise, Harry unlatched the gate to the garden just beyond the conservatory and ducked behind a hedgerow. It helped, but not much. In a crowd Harry wished to be alone, but alone he was lonely. So stiflingly lonely. He had tried to speak to Gemma about it but she had written it off as ‘ _ grief manifesting in different ways _ ’ and reminded him that ‘ _ we can't go on mourning mother forever − she would want us to move on _ .’ Harry had never been good at moving on, but Gemma wasn't much for talking these days anyway. Their father was set to step down from the throne soon, old and tired as he was, and Gemma had to be prepared to assume his place.

    Someone had probably told Gemma and his father of his return by then. Harry wished he could feel more enthusiasm about his return, his home, his family. He hadn't seen them in a full year. It should feel warm and welcoming and relieving to be back, but it didn't feel like anything. 

    Harry pushed the side door of the conservatory open, breathing more relaxedly in the warm air. Pulling off his cape and draping it over one arm, he walked between potted ferns to a corridor, planning to head to Gemma's study where she almost always was. He quite wanted to go straight to his room and collapse into bed, but that would just raise more concern from his father and Gemma. His trip to France was supposed to help with the lull he always felt but it completely and utterly hadn't. He wasn't about to let his family find out, though. He just had to keep it together for meals and galas and− 

    “Harold!” he heard from the staircase before him. He looked up with a forced grimace to greet his sister as she darted towards him, skirts swishing as she ran. “My dear brother, back from his sabbatical in the country!”

    She clasped his hand tightly between her own and pulled him forward to kiss his cheek.

    “Hello, Gemma,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek in return. “I’m sorry to be so early, I didn’t mean to cause any disturbance.”

    “You’ve done no such thing,” she waved him off. “I’m only glad to see you home. It’s been so quiet without you here this past year. I’ve missed seeing you running through the halls, hearing your voice. It’s lonely without you.”

    “It can’t have been much different from before I left,” Harry mused under his breath. “I wasn’t doing much running then.”

    “And now?” Gemma asked, her face reverting to the pinched look of worry he’d grown used to before his trip. “Are you doing better? You look better.”

    Harry shrugged, scuffing the toe of one shoe against the stone floor and studying the marks it left.

    “I dunno,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “A bit.”

    “That’s good,” she tutted. “France helped? The air?”

    “Sure,” he nodded halfheartedly.

    “See?” she smiled, brushing her fingers over his elbow so briefly he barely felt it. “I told you it would fix you right up. Just give it some time and all that French sunshine will activate and you’ll be right as rain.”

    Harry nodded, his eyes still trained on his shoes.

    “I’ll let you settle back in, I’m sure you’re tired from the journey and I’ve got a few matters to attend to with Father. We’ll see you at dinner?”

    He nodded and she pressed another quick kiss to his cheek before continuing on towards their father’s study.

    “It’s good to see you back at home,” she told him as she passed.

    “Yeah,” he said, watching as she disappeared in a flurry of swishing skirts.

    He stood there in the hallway for a moment, shrinking back against the wall as servants and minor lords shuffled past. Most of them were new to the castle and didn’t recognise him. Harry was grateful to know that the most recent portrait of him in the palace had been painted when he was still just a boy and he was able to pass unnoticed in some rare moments. He could almost melt into the stone, invisible without a crown on his head. He almost thought to stay in his spot forever, just to see how long it would take before someone called him “Your Highness” and took away his anonymity, but he could hear the frantic voice of Liam, the head guard, coming towards his corridor in brisk even footsteps and decided that he didn’t want to be the prince just yet. He turned and slid down the hall towards the kitchens, ducking between the cooks and finally breaking through the back door to the fields outside the palace.

    He breathed in the cold air, letting it cool the heat in his cheeks from the fires in the kitchens and tried to bask in the barrenness of the outdoors. Inside he was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of servants and lords and ladies but as soon as he was alone it was only him and his thoughts and his memories and his sadness. He began to weave through the pebbles and grasses, searching out a spot of tawny brown in the grey-green fields. He was just stepping over a particularly uneven bit of stone when a sudden force slammed into him.

_     SMACK!! _

    Harry was thrown back, the breath forced from his lungs as he was invaded with fears of intruders and assassination and usurpers. The heels of his shoes caught on the stones beneath him and he fell to the ground, letting out a short gasp as he did so, landing hard in the dirt and tensing up against attack − until he felt gentle hands on his shoulders, rubbing softly through the fabric of his doublet as a voice above him spoke a stream of soothing words.

    “Oops,” Harry said nonsensically, his eyes wide as he looked up at his would-be attacker. He was met with warm, sparkling blue eyes above a sweet friendly smile.

    “Hello there,” the man said, cupping his hands beneath Harry’s elbows and pulling him back to a standing position. His hands were warm and strong and he moved as if he were helping a spooked deer with how careful each movement was. “I’m terribly sorry − truly. I’m really in quite the hurry and I wasn’t looking where I was going and I ran straight into you. Are you alright, Darling?”

    The man was still touching him, dragging his fingers between Harry’s elbows and shoulders in long repetitive strokes. Harry couldn’t remember the last time anyone but Gemma had touched him anywhere above his wrists and it felt like every nerve ending in his body had been rewired to his upper arms, standing at attention to receive this man’s fleeting touch.

    “I − ” he started, choking a bit on his words. “I’m alright.”

    “Good,” the man nodded. “That’s good, Love. I really am sorry, didn’t mean to knock you over like that. I hope I didn’t ruin your nice clothes.”

    He began to brush Harry off with his hands. Light, maddening touches across his shoulders and back and hips. Harry snapped back into focus when he reached for his legs, stepping back as the man pulled his hands back to himself. Harry immediately missed the warmth of his palms.

    “Right,” the blue-eyed man said, nodding to himself and bending at the waist to retrieve Harry’s fallen cap. He ran the soft plume of it between his fingers before reaching up to set it back on Harry’s head. He took his time straightening it, getting it sat just right, a look of deep concentration on his face. “There we are, all back in order. Right, Love?”

    “Yes,” Harry nodded, folding in on himself more the further he inched from the man. “I think only my ego’s been bruised.”

    The man laughed.

    His eyes crinkled up when he laughed, his lips curling back and his voice ringing out like cheerful bells. Harry hadn’t heard someone laugh that openly on the castle grounds in a very long time.

    “Of course,” he chuckled, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s elbow again. The casual way that he moved felt foreign to Harry, so used to stiff movements and emotionless faces. “Well, Love, I’ve got to be off. I’m afraid I’m going to be terribly late, but really it’s the prince who’s terribly early.”

    “What?” Harry asked, frowning. He took another step back and the man’s hand fell away.

    “Haven’t you heard? The prince has arrived a whole day early. They just pulled me out of bed a moment ago − the king requested that I be there to greet him.”

    “Oh,” Harry said. Of course. He wouldn't be treating a prince like this. Anyone who knew who he was would be bowing their heads and keeping their distance. They wouldn't dare to touch him, never in the casual familiar way this man was. Harry could feel the usual cold overtake his heart once more. The man was still smiling openly, a wry glint in his eyes.

    “I’d much rather stay here with you, Love,” he grinned, “but I’d be worried the king would have my head or summat. Our dear prince has just arrived, I’m told. The king hired me especially to get him out of some hole he’s been in so I’d best be off! I’ll see you later on, though? In court perhaps?”

    “I’m sure you will,” Harry nodded, his shoulders stiff.

    “Wish me luck,” the man laughed as he headed towards the castle. “I’ve heard that this prince of ours will be my greatest challenge yet!”

    “I’m sure he will be,” Harry muttered tersely to himself, brushing the last of the dirt from his hose and continuing on. Of course he couldn’t be left alone in his own home. Of course his father had hired yet another person to try and force him out of his ‘ _ disposition _ ’ as they’d all taken to calling it. And of course the person he’d hired would have the brightest laugh and the softest hands Harry had ever encountered. Harry could only imagine how long it would take before his father realized the lost cause of it all and would send the boy back to wherever he came from. Hopefully they’d come to their senses quickly and be able to put it all behind them before Harry had to even speak to the boy again. 

    Harry strolled through the field towards the duck pond, feeling the dampness from the grass seep through his stockings as it licked at his legs. He looked around at the gloomy skies and gray clouds and wished he’d thought to bring his fur. He continued on against the chill, eager to greet his greatest friend in the palace, the one he’d missed the most while he was away. His eyes softened when he saw the flock of ducks waddling across the grounds, his jaw loosening as his lips curled into the closest thing to a smile he’d worn in months.

    “My Love,” he called, tipping forward and collapsing to the ground in the midst of the flock, likely further staining his snowy white clothes with green and brown stains. He held out his arms to the creature before him and waited expectantly.

    “ _ Buckaw! _ ” Geraldine clucked, bouncing between the ducks as she ran towards Harry.

    “Oh Darling,” he cried, letting her peck at his fingers and nip the skin, “I’ve missed you so!”

    He bundled her up onto his lap and tucked her under his arm, dipping his fingers between her feathers to scratch at her chest until she closed her eyes and relaxed against him.

    “I was so lonesome without you,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I wanted to take you with me but they said I couldn’t bring a chicken in the carriage. I tried to explain that you’re no ordinary poultry but they just wouldn’t have it. It’s just as well, I think you’d have grown bored out in the country with no one but a few stuffy lords and some servants who don’t even speak English. I grew bored before I even stepped off the carriage, but I won’t tell Gemma about that. She worries enough as it is, and now she’s so busy with the coronation approaching.”

    He shifted one leg to settle more comfortably into the grass.

    “Were you alright here without me? You’re feeling a bit thin, Dear.” Geraldine didn’t answer but to ruffle her feathers and bite his finger. “Did Niall remember to bring out all the finest kitchen scraps for you? He promised he would but I know he gets distracted in the kitchen.”

    Geraldine cooed softly as the feathers around her neck spread, then settled again. Harry took this as a yes, but she had been disinterested in eating. Being separated did that to her sometimes. It had been an issue since his trip north for three weeks as an eight year old. Harry was unconcerned, however, as worse came to worst he could feed her himself, which she enjoyed but which made her spoiled. Harry sat in the field a bit longer, alternately smoothing Geraldine’s feathers and watching her peck about in thicker patches of grass for insects. Geraldine was his closest confidant, often closer even than Gemma, but the intense nothingness left by his disposition left nothing to tell her.

    Bidding Geraldine a tender farewell, he made his way back up through the grounds and back inside, careful not to interact with any persons at all. Walking through many hallways and up several flights of stairs, just before his own chambers he caught a glimpse of the warm, fire lit study belonging to his father. He could see the edges of the firelight spilling out onto the stone floor just before the open door. For a moment, he felt a distant desire to step inside and spectate. Gemma and his father always had new kingdom emergencies to navigate, and somehow kept good humor. He used to be pulled in as a jovial third party, but today he walked past the door in silence, thinking only of sleep. He opened the door of his own, much colder and quieter room, vaguely registered that his luggage had arrived, and collapsed into bed.


	2. Louis

     Louis’ day began just the same as any other nowadays. He’d woken late in the morning in his palace bedroom, nothing but a closet to his employers but a grand thing in his eyes even after living there for a nearly a year. Walking through the grand halls still felt like a dream and having free reign of the place − from the overflowing kitchens to the stables and orchards − sometimes felt like a privilege he hadn’t earned. Louis could do anything he pleased, things that would mean treason for any other man in the kingdom, but as long as the king was laughing Louis was free to roam the halls, to eat their food and to poke fun at any dignitary he’d chosen as target that week. All Louis needed were acts and jokes and songs and he had the court laughing and rolling gleefully in the palms of his hands.

     That morning he’d eaten breakfast late and climbed straight back in bed, trying his best to rest up. The palace was filled with noblefolk from the neighboring kingdoms in anticipation of the prince’s arrival back to his home. People had been flooding in, demanding music and jests and performances, and Louis knew that his services would only be further in demand once the man of the hour had finally arrived. There were already balls being planned to celebrate his return and, rumor had it, to find the prince a suitable bride. The prince would have turned nineteen while he was away and the king was surely eager to have him married before long. The coming months would be packed full of parties and dinners to help the prince to mingle and find his bride.

     Louis had been nearly back asleep when Simon, the events coordinator, all but yanked him out of bed, startling him from a rather pleasant dream involving maypole ribbons and a pretty boy.

     “Up and at ‘em,” Simon had growled, tearing the blanket off of him. “The prince has just arrived. It’s yer time to shine, Boy.”

     Louis had thrown on his clothes hastily, opting for breeches and a loose shirt rather than his full jester costume which took longer to lace himself into. He’d tucked his fool’s cap into the back band of his trousers and ran off towards the castle, hoping to find Niall or Liam to introduce him formally to the crown prince. Instead he’d barreled into one of the new noblemen in the fields, one he hadn’t seen before but whom he hoped he’d see again. The boy was lovely, and Louis had likely coddled him a bit more than was strictly necessary, but Louis could never really help himself around pretty boys. He’d brushed him off and straightened him up, wishing all along that he could spend the day picking each speck of dirt from the boy’s beautifully embroidered doublet, before hastily running off to find the prince.

     He hadn’t found the prince though.

     Liam told him the prince had disappeared as soon as he’d arrived and Louis had been left to spend the afternoon in the servants hall, playing cards against Niall. They’d spent hours gambling and betting and trading the bits of food they’d been using as currency, before finally someone told him to change into his costume and make his way to the dinning hall. Apparently there was a feast being held to celebrate the prince’s return and Louis was to provide the entertainment. He was off again, rushing back to his quarters to pull together his royal blue and gold doublet, running a thumb over the newly embroidered diamond pattern. After tightening laces here, and shifting fabric there, he pulled his belled cap over his hair. 

     Louis barely had time to compose himself, but he couldn’t fuck up now. He’d worked so long to make his act of jokes and lute playing work and this had been his big break, nearly a year ago. A real chance to give his little sisters stability when no one else could. He paused for a moment just before the door to the grand hall. He had just time enough to relace his sleeve that had come undone and take a deep breath before letting the classic fool’s smile into his expression and stepping through the doors. 

     The regular cheers greeted him, making his smile genuine as he bowed all too low and waved too enthusiastically and laughed and blew kisses, making his way forward. He turned to play a short ditty to the onlookers but went silent when the king rose. Louis turned, his confidant gait faltering when he saw the boy beside the king.

     There, sitting with a rather forced smile, was the boy from earlier. The young lord who was sitting in the prince’s seat and wearing the prince’s crown on his head. The young lord who he had thrown to the ground, practically groped in broad daylight on the lawn, and  _ flirted with _ . The young lord who was very obviously not a lord and who Louis could only assume was the crown prince, the humorless boy who hadn’t laughed in nearly two years. The same one who narrowed his eyes as they locked with Louis’.

_      I’ve quite enjoyed having a head _ , Louis thought absently as he approached the table.  _ Maybe I’d do alright without one though. Might be good for my act. I’ve never been one for puppetry, but I’m sure I could work it in. Maybe I could pretend to lose it and stumble about looking for it. Maybe  _ that _ would make the prince laugh. _

     Even scowling as he was, the prince was lovely enough to make Louis’ stomach flip just looking at him. His all white ensemble contrasted his glossy chestnutty curls, looking like some half remembered dream of heaven. Louis sent him a friendly smile and the boy rolled his eyes, turning away.

_      Fuck _ .

     “Tommo!” The king thundered. Louis bowed again, attempting to compose himself.

     “Your Majesty,” Louis said, rising while attempting to lower his pulse. Of course the boy he had smacked into was going to be the fucking prince. Of course the prince was going to be the most beautiful person in existence. Louis was a comedian, so it should have been a given that his life be one big comedy.

_      Fuck fuck fuck. _

     “Tommo, I want you to meet my son, Prince Harry.” 

     Louis clung to his fool’s smile like a life raft as he turned, bowing dramatically for what felt like too many times. Prince Harry smiled stiffly at him in a thoroughly disappointing way. Louis knew that Harry knew that they had bumped into each other earlier. And Louis also knew that based on the way Harry was smiling (or rather, faking a smile, his lips pulled tight into a chaste grimace) that this was probably the worst possible impression Louis could have made. Louis had won the hearts of nearly the entire court in his year at the palace, but all of that fell flat when faced with the disappointingly fake smile of the crown prince. He could almost cry, he really could.

     But Louis said,  “A pleasure, Your Highness,” and stepped up and back around the tables as conversation through the room picked back up. 

     Louis made his way to the king, lute in hand, smiling and laughing with whoever he passed until he reached the head of the table, now behind it. 

     The king seized Louis’ shoulder, tugging him down to sitting height. Louis squatted between them, knees bent out like a frog.

     “Harry, this is the young fellow I was telling you about.”

     “It  _ is  _ actually a pleasure, Your Highness,” Louis smiled, extending a hand. He would never get over the excitement of shaking noble hands as a court fool. All rules of conduct seemed to drop away from him and he could attempt to address the prince in a casual, friendly manner. Prince Harry, however, seemed not to appreciate this at all. Harry took his hand for a fraction of a second before withdrawing. 

     “Likewise.”

     Louis realized this might be because he had literally bowled the prince over and felt his mind beginning to trip over itself.

     “Tommo!” Gemma called from the king’s other side. “Come play us that new song! Sarah didn’t get to hear it last night.”

     “Of course,” Louis grinned, relieved. He tipped his head to both the king and his son. “Excuse me, Your Majesties. Duty calls, eh?”

     He crossed to the princess and began to strum his lute, most of his mind still focused on Prince Harry and his conversation with the king.

     “The countryside was lovely,” the prince was saying, twisting his fingers into the napkin beside his plate. “My French was terrible at first but I picked it back up. A lot of wine and cheese. Good music.”

     “Fantastic!” The king grinned. Then he lowered his voice, leaning in so that Louis had to strain to hear him. “And you’re feeling better?”

     “Much,” Harry nodded, his smile strained even further.

     “Found any French girls you’d like to import?” his father winked.

     Harry’s smile fell and he gripped the napkin tighter before faking a laugh.

     “Not yet.”

     As he plucked his lute Louis studied the boy across from him, the deep green eyes that seemed to hold stories he’d never get to hear, and tried to connect him with the prince he’d heard about all his life. The pride and joy of the castle, a little boy in bright colors who’d run about with a pet chicken, his long curls tied in satin ribbons and an infectious smile dimpling his face. Eccentric, but a vibrant child. And then suddenly replaced by this one. The one who rarely left the walls of the castle and who had scarcely left his rooms after the death of his mother, until suddenly he’d disappeared to France. Harry must have been one of the most gorgeous people in the whole kingdom, but was so sad. So colorless and gaunt and sad. As if the brilliance in him had been stamped out. When Louis was first hired, almost every court member had come up to him, reveling in the fact that ‘ _ a smile had come back to the palace.’ _ This must have been what they were talking about. The heart of the palace was gone, and this beautiful, sad boy was left in its place.

     Louis needed to stop thinking about Harry’s eyes. And his jawline. And how the candlelight played through his hair. Louis had been hired to bring a smile back to this place, and to the prince. Not to flirt − although he did a lot of that. He returned his focus to the girls in front of him and saw a knowing glint in Gemma’s eyes. He ignored it, improvising an ending for the music when he realised he’d lost track of which measure he was on.

     By the time he’d made a single round of the room, joking with all the usual lords and ladies, the prince was gone. Try as he might Louis couldn’t locate the boy he’d been hired to entertain.

     “Have you seen Prince Harry?” he asked a pair of scullery maids out in the hall, hoping they might have seen him pass by.

     “No,” Perrie told him apologetically from the other girls lap. “But I’m afraid we weren’t really looking.”

     Jade shot him a devilish look and he laughed.

     “You think he’s doing the same?” Louis asked, smiling at the way they twined around each other. “Off with some lass in a more secluded corner than you two?”

     “I highly doubt it, Tommo,” Jade laughed. “He’s not much of a lady’s man, is he?”

     “No,” Perrie shook her head, linking her arms around Jade’s neck and pulling her closer. “Not like  _ you _ .”

     Louis continued his search, wondering what the girls could have meant. Was it just that the prince was extremely shy? Had he had his heart broken at some early age? Or did the death of his mother weigh on him so heavily that all interaction seemed pointless? 

     Louis returned to his room that night wondering all of this when he leaned his head against his window and heard something. A soft melody, drifting in the night air. He cracked his window open to listen. Someone was playing piano. Out of tune, slow, and melancholy. It was lovely. He fell asleep listening to it. 

 

     The next morning found Louis with renewed determination to have a real conversation with the prince. Get to know him, his sense of humor, his interests. The king had made it very clear that getting Harry to smile was to be his top priority, which had seemed a strange request when Louis first heard it last year but was making more sense all the time. All this energy he had mustered fell entirely flat when Louis once again could not locate the prince. He searched all morning, peering into every room, down every hallway, on what must have been six different floors. Still, no prince. Noon found Louis exasperated at the servants hall tables when Niall sat down across from him. 

     “Game of cards?”

     He set down his plate across from Louis’, already shuffling a worn set of red backed cards. 

     “Sure.” Louis leaned forward slightly on his elbows. Niall was a squire and was almost always up to date on castle gossip. He was a good lad to have around when Louis was lacking inspiration, although he often had to wait through a tangent or twelve about Princess Gemma’s sparkling wit or the jasmine scent of her hair. Niall was barely seventeen and hopelessly infatuated with the future queen, despite her indifference towards him. All the while Niall stayed oblivious to the affections of a young lord named Shawn, but Louis was content to sit back and wait for it all to play out eventually.

     Niall had barely finished dealing him in when he leaned forward with a smile and an understanding tone.

     “You seem upset about something.”

     Louis sighed.

     “Is it the prince?” Niall straightened the stack of cards on the table between them.

     “Well, I’ve been hired to bring him joy, that’s the entire reason I’m here, and I can’t even find him. What am I supposed to do with that?”

     “He does tend to disappear, doesn’t he?” Niall smiled knowingly. 

     Louis didn't know this, and wished that more people had warned him about all of the prince’s apparent quirks. 

     “If you’re really willing to hunt, I would look over around the stables.”

     “Why the stables? Does he ride?”

     “Not so much anymore. But he does have Lady Geraldine.”

     “Who’s Lady Geraldine?”

     Niall only gave him that same knowing smile, cutting the cards and humming under his breath. Louis huffed in frustration and took off towards the stables.

     After walking from one side of the grounds to the complete other, Louis was informed that Geraldine was out and the prince was somewhere else. Louis had no idea who this mysterious farm girl was, but speculated that she was the reason for Harry’s apparent disinterest in other girls. There had to be something. Some unknown reason that an actual prince as painfully beautiful and horrendously gorgeous as Harry was still single.  It was slightly unfair. Or very unfair, but it was none of Louis’ business.

     Finally he returned to the servants’ quarters, exhausted by his fruitless search, and threw himself down beside the fire. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth fill him up and chase away the numbness that had amassed in his fingers and toes while trudging through the many damp corridors and muddy fields of the palace.

     “You’re not going to find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”

     Louis squinted at the old lumpy chair in the corner and found Zayn curled up with a book in his lap.

     “Where does he go?” Louis asked, a slight tinge of desperation creeping into his speech. “You’ve got to know.”

     Zayn must have known the prince better than anyone in the palace. He was something of a wizard when it came to costume, a master of pigments and ornaments. He had been the prince’s personal dresser before he left and must have resumed his position. In the prince’s absence Zayn had been helping Louis, mixing up paints for his face and sewing bells into the seams of all his clothes. He’d even made him a toy scepter with an old doll’s head he’d painted to resemble Louis.

     “No one knows where the prince disappears to,” Zayn sighed, turning the page of his book. “That’s part of his charm.”

     “Please,” Louis pleaded. “Simon keeps asking for updates for the king and I’ve got nothing to give him. This is my job, Zayn. I can’t make the prince smile if I can’t even  _ find _ him. I could be fired.”

     Zayn snorted, still fixed on his book.

     “You’ve got the entire court wrapped around your finger,” he told him. “Like hell they’d fire you.”

     “They could,” Louis argued. “And then I’d have no job and my sisters would starve and − ”

     “Fine,” Zayn sighed, finally closing his book and meeting Louis’ eyes. “He’s got packages coming in. Things from France that didn’t fit in his carriage. I’ll let you deliver a few to his rooms. I can’t guarantee he’ll be there to receive them but it’s worth a shot.”

     “Thank you, Zayn,” Louis smiled, slumping back in relief.

     “Just be careful, okay?” Zayn said, his eyes hard. “He’s... Just be careful with him. People tend to talk in this place, especially about him. He needs friends, people to look out for him, even if he doesn’t want them. Don’t be like everyone else.”

     “When have I ever been like anyone else?” Louis grinned, crossing his arms behind his head.

     “I can’t argue there,” Zayn shrugged, opening his book back up and ignoring Louis once more.


	3. Harry

     There was something very strange about the new court jester and Harry was quite determined not to figure out what it was. In fact, he was quite content to never interact with the boy again, although he knew that goal might be fruitless. Their first interaction, before the boy knew of his rank, had been strange and confusing and almost  _ exciting _ if Harry was being completely honest with himself (which he very often tried to be) and he had been very nearly looking forward to his time back in the kingdom − at least for the few short moments before he remembered himself. He was a prince.  _ The _ Prince. He couldn’t very well go frolicking off with a court fool. He couldn’t even have friends who weren’t employed by his father. And so, when the fool came looking for him, following his duties as some sort of plaything to the crown prince, Harry fled. Try as he might Harry would not succumb to the fool’s offerings of friendship. A prince wasn’t to have friends, he’d have allies, and what kind of ally would a jester be? No, Harry would stay away and continue life as he had before his year in France.

     Despite his being away for so long, Harry could only thank his lucky stars that he remembered all the halls and passageways of his childhood so that he may avoid this new and troublesome and all too eager  _ boy _ . This terribly nosey boy who his well-meaning father had to go and hire all to make Harry laugh. Hopefully before long his father would realise that all of the jester’s efforts were in vain and that Harry had given up laughter along with all other childish things long ago and give up. And send the boy away. And everything would be safe and dull and lonely again.

     Harry determined himself to wait them all out, to see how long it would take for the fool to be dismissed. For a full day he was successful, hiding in the old orchard, sequestering himself in the library for hours on end, feigning a headache to avoid dinner and, finally, sneaking up to hide in the tower.

     Bless the tower.

     Harry hadn't gone up at first when he arrived back home, afraid it would make him sad all over again, but it had been just long enough that his mother's perfume bottles and pressed flowers and the letters stacked on old tables in the secret room of the east tower only made him sigh. He pressed open the old trap door with a creak and threw open the curtains just as streaks of pink light flooded the room from the setting sun. The dust curled up around him but didn't make him cough. Gemma must have been up there once or twice while he was away. It was a room only Harry, Gemma and their mother had really known about. His father knew where it was but Harry didn’t think he had ever been inside.

     Harry turned around to face the dimly glowing room. The old out-of-tune piano stood as always pressed up against one wall, velvet seat wrinkling with age. The stacks of letters and the flowers pinned on the walls were settled comfortably on the other side, pulling from the light that faint glow held only by old things, much loved. Harry, however, walked straight back to the enormous pile of cushions and blankets he and his mother and Gemma had amassed for comfort, collapsing into the feathery moth-eaten mess with a sense of hollow relief. The smell of the room was not of his mother, as that scent remained only on the wedding dress their father had refused to throw away, but it was of his childhood; a distinct sense of happiness Harry had given up hoping would return. So he sat among the pieces of sunshine that had been left over and finally walked over to the piano to play. 

 

     The next day Harry awoke to the same vapid fatigue that had plagued him for the past two years. Sleep did nothing to alleviate his exhaustion with waking. Nevertheless, he got up, was coated in fashion by Zayn, and went down to breakfast to appease Gemma, who had gotten suspicious. Walking down the halls, Harry barely found it in himself to greet the many new court members he ran into, and was praying for a quiet breakfast when he entered the hall. And at first it was. He made it to his seat next to Gemma, sharing in some of her rose tea and listening to the gentle lute music floating in from some part of the chamber when, just as he looked around for the source, he discovered just the boy he had been trying to avoid. Louis caught Harry’s gaze and Harry broke it just in time to feel his stomach sinking as Louis called “Your Majesty!” all the way across the hall in an entirely too loud voice.

     Harry blinked for slightly longer than he normally would, attempting to brace himself for the impending social interaction about to take place. Louis bounded over to the table with an altogether too cheerful smile and said “Your Majesty! You'll have to excuse my absence yesterday, I had no idea where you were! Takes quite a bit to find anyone in this place, but I’m glad I’ve got you now.”

     “Don’t attack him too much, Tommo,” Gemma smiled, setting her chin atop her propped up hand. “Tell us a joke, won’t you?”

     “Won't I just?” Louis beamed at the echoed encouragement from around the hall. Harry watched, thankful to Gemma for the short reprieve but sure that more was coming as Louis hopped from one side of the tables to another to stand in the center of the hall, arms out at the smattering of light applause. 

     “Tell me, Your Majesty,” Louis turned his smile on Harry. “You've just come from France, have you not?”

     Harry folded his hands.

     “I have.”

     “Ah, then you'll have to excuse our squalor by comparison. Nothing quite like the entertainment and grandeur they have at Versaille, but we can try.”

     “‘M sure France was more suited to the prince’s fashion sense anyway!” a lord called. 

     Harry sighed, used to this sort of jab but, to his surprise, Louis shot back. 

     “And a fine sense it is, too. Why, I should speculate the prince's influence is the closest most of us will get to that kind of splendor.”

     This was met by laughter and Harry sensed that Louis was teasing him, but with far less menace than the rest.

     “I’m sure he inspired countless pieces of art in his travels, did you not?” Louis looked up at him expectantly.

     Harry shrugged, picking self-consciously at the silvery white threads embroidering his doublet. He could feel the eyes of the court on him and it made him uneasy.

     “If I had even an ounce of the talent it would take to do him justice I’d have an easel set before me this instant to try and capture him myself,” Louis promised cheekily. “But as it is, any attempt I made would only soil his visage. One of life’s great misfortunes.”

     “Who would want to look at a painting of him?” the same lord called, his face red and pinched with laughter.

     Louis kept up his playful smile but his eyes took on a tense calculating look.

     “Well I don’t know,” he drawled, waltzing casually towards the man. “I heard that your mother was having a portrait of our prince commissioned for her sitting room. I believe she mentioned something about wanting to finally have something lovely to lighten the room, for all she had up was an old painting of her son and it wasn’t doing the job. I can’t say I blame her.”

     “You − ” the man started, the laughter on his face draining and being replaced with a confused sort of anger.

     “Now, Dear Prince,” Louis began earnestly, circling back to the head of the room where Gemma and the king were both in stitches, “I do hope you’ll indulge his poor mother. She’s had nothing to look at but his artless maw for years, I’m sure it would be a great service to have something as refreshing as yours to look at for a change.”

     Harry looked between the duke who was fuming in his seat, held down by a firm hand on his shoulder, and the jester who was gazinging up at him with a mild, expectant look as though he’d only asked about the weather.

     Harry could feel the corner of his lip twitching and he was quick to bite his cheek to stop it.

     “Oh, I don’t know how she’s withstood it for all these years,” Louis continued, a dangerous sparkle in his eye. “If I were Lady Asher − ”

     He paused, his smile growing mischievously, and changed his gait to a wide feminine sway across the floor, pitching his voice up to a high comedic crow.

     “Imagine my delight at my first born son!” he lilted, pulling out his doll-headed scepter and holding it like a child. “Finally a man to learn his father’s trade and take on his title. But alas! When I look upon the babe he has not the lovely eyes of my husband, nor his silken hair. By the Goddess!”

     He cried out, his face distraught, and clutched the scepter to his chest.

     “He has more in common with that boar I had lain just last spring! But that cannot be! Even that boar did look sweeter than he!”

     Harry scrunched up his nose as though holding back a sneeze.

     The duke in question stood up with a shout, his face nearly purple.

     Louis looked back at Harry with a grin.

     “My!” Louis pretended to swoon, dancing towards the prince theatrically. “What a lovely young thing!”

     Harry looked down, trying to will down the blush that had likely long since spread across his cheeks. Louis glanced down at his doll head distastefully and tossed it away, causing a rumble of laughter through the court.

     “Who might this enchanting creature be?”

     “I believe you refer to our sweet Harry,” Gemma called, delighted by it all.

     “Ahh,” Louis sighed, closing his eyes as if in bliss. “Of course it could be none but Sweet Harold. I’ve heard his name uttered by every mother in the kingdom, all wishing their own child could possess such grace. Truly a face for a mother to love!”

     “A face  _ only _ a mother could love, maybe,” a nobleman jeered, snickering.

     Louis rolled his eyes, shooting Harry a quick look of exasperation before turning with a pinched look on his face.

     “You must be speaking of yourself, Lord Barrow. I was, in fact, still describing Sweet Harold here. What a treat it is to lay mine own eyes upon him, to confirm that all I’ve heard is true. I didn’t believe them at first, for how could one creature contain such contradictions. To hold the most delicate lips above the strongest jaw, such graceful hands with such stalwert arms. Eyes as green as the sea and cheeks as flushed as a rose. And yet he sits before us, our perfect prince, carved from stone yet soft as silk. They must have grown so jealous in France, that we get to hold him as our own. They must have hoveled at the borders, begged him not to go.”

     Throughout his speech Louis had lost the feminine pitch of his voice, dropping back to something more sincere. He seemed to notice it suddenly, clearing his throat and tossing his head to get back in character.

     “Sweet Harold,” he simpered, clutching his chest as he gazed up at Harry lovingly. “My dashing, beloved prince, would you allow me a portrait of yourself that I may hang in my parlor? Why, I would be the envy of every woman in Sommerstarr! People would flock to my home just to catch a glimpse of your image on my wall.”

     Harry wanted to laugh at the fool’s theatrics, the way his voice broke on some words when pitched so high, but he bit his lip instead, trying not to meet his eyes.

     “It would bring me such joy, Your Grace,” Louis continued, raising his voice even higher to a shrill warble that sounded almost painful. Harry bit his lip harder until his teeth had almost broken through the skin and Louis grinned. “Maybe the sight of such a lovely face could help me to forget the hideous sight of my own kin.”

     “What do you say, Sweet Harold?” Gemma giggled. “Might you find it in the goodness of your heart to do her such a service?”

     “I’m sure something can be arranged...” Harry played along halfheartedly. “Lady Asher.”

     Louis grinned triumphantly, bowing deeply and singing more praises of Harry’s kind heart and generosity.

     Lord Asher rolled his eyes, having slumped down in his seat in defeat long ago.

 

     That afternoon Harry retreated to the tower once more, curled up in the hollow at the window, and looked out at the castle grounds below. He watched the far off figure clad in fool’s clothes trapeze through the fields, running back and forth across the lawns following false leads and jingling resignedly. Finally, when the sun was low in the sky and the shadows of night were stretching out across the kingdom, long after any other would have given up, he flung himself down onto the soft grass and shouted up at the sky.

     “That bloody fucking magician!” Harry heard faintly in the distance. “People can’t just  _ disappear _ into thin air!”

     Far above the ground, away from prying eyes, Harry held Geraldine close to his chest and hid his faint barely there smile in her silk-soft feathers.


	4. Louis

     “Post is in,” Zayn drawled, dropping a paper-wrapped box onto the table and sliding into the chair across from Louis. The chair in question happened to be next to the one Liam was sat in and Louis watched with narrowed eyes as Liam tensed up. Even that small movement caused an orchestra of clangs to ring out, clad in a full suit of armor as he was. Louis had always thought that Liam took himself a bit too seriously but it had only gotten worse with the prince’s return. With that thought Louis sprung from his chair, reminded of his own interest in the post.

     “Is he in his room?” Louis asked, checking the package’s address.

     “I can’t make any promises,” Zayn shrugged. “He’s quite quick on his feet. But I’d only just finished his hair when I left.”

     “Thank you,” Louis grinned, snatching up the package and darting out of the kitchen. He sprinted up the stairs, chest filled with hope that this might be his chance to finally corner Harry outside of court. As he ran he tried to plan out what he’d say in his head, wondering if there might be anything in the prince’s rooms he could use for a joke. He could bring up Liam’s tendency to overdress, maybe ask him about Lady Geraldine and tease him a bit about whoever she was to him, or perhaps mention how oblivious Squire Niall was to Lord Mendez’ affections as he puppied after Princess Gemma.

     By the time he reached the top of the stairs he was out of breath, sweating in his loose white shirt, his mind reeling with the possibilities of his first real conversation with the prince. He took a deep breath, straightening the bell-spangled hat on his head, and knocked on the big wooden door that he’d been told lead to the prince’s chambers.

     Nothing happened.

     Louis rocked on his heels and knocked again, louder this time.

     When still there came no answer he sat the package at his feet and lifted both fists to rap his knuckles rhythmically against the door, finding different tones and notes across the weathered wood. He nearly stumbled into the room when the door was finally wrenched open. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment before grinning widely at the prince in the doorway. Golden sunlight was streaming out into the hall from the floor length windows shining behind him and it gave him a halo. The air from past the door smelled entirely of roses as Harry looked out with an annoyed little furrow creasing his brow.

     “Yes?”

     “I’ve got a package for you!” Louis told him cheerily, bending quickly to retrieve it from the floor and straightening up in a flash. He held it out in front of him, elbows straight, and gave a little flourish. “Or, well,  _ you’ve _ got a package. It’s not from me. But − ”

     “Thank you,” Harry said with a polite little nod as he cut him off. Before Louis could move to stop him Harry had taken the box from his hands and closed the door with a decisive  _ thump _ .

     Louis stood in the hall for a moment in stunned silence before raising his fist and resuming his loud knocking. He wondered for a moment if Harry was going to ignore him again but the door swung open, a slightly more exasperated Harry peering out.

     “Yes?”

     “Hello again,” Louis grinned, head held high.

     “Did you need something else?”

     “Au contraire, Sweet Prince,” said Louis, a glint in his eyes. “I wanted only to offer my services to you. I live to serve, afterall.”

     Harry’s eyes narrowed and the door inched closed slowly.

     “It is my duty,” Louis continued, inching forward to try and herd Harry further into the room, “as court jester to bring joy to the court. Jokes, jests, all that. It’s my job to make people laugh, and I’m very good at it. I take my work very seriously. I believe I’ve made every person who’s been in the castle laugh, all except you − and you’re the most important one.”

     “Try Gemma’s rooms,” Harry scoffed, moving to close the door.

     “I’d rather try yours,” Louis grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

     The door only narrowly missed his nose as it swung shut.

     “I don’t give up easily, you know,” Louis shouted through the thick wood. “It’s one of my absolute  _ worst _ habits. I’m the most stubborn person I know!”

     “That’s only because you don’t know me,” came the muffled response.

     “Well see, Darling, that’s just the point, isn’t it?” Louis smiled, leaning against the door. “I won’t let up until I’ve made you laugh. Doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’ll stand out here all day, all night if I have to. I’ll tell you every joke I know, do every routine, until I’ve got only the  _ really _ awful ones left and you’ll have gone so mad you’ll laugh at anything.”

     “Ha. Ha.” Harry said the words stiffly, through gritted teeth, and Louis giggled delightedly. “Will you leave now?”

     “For now,” Louis grinned. “But I’ll be back − Count on it!”

     “I’ll be waiting with baited breath,” Harry called back. His voice was dry but Louis could almost have sworn he heard a smile in it.

 

     Louis was whistling to himself as he wandered the halls, a skip in his step after what he felt was a good stride towards befriending the prince. He’d spent most of his day preparing for another performance in court that night, practicing his lute and attempting yet again to juggle some fruit. He’d never been able to juggle and it had always been a bit of a sore spot for him. Luckily he’d excelled in other arts of foolishness and it hadn’t yet become a hindrance to him on more than a personal level. As the sun lowered in the sky and the servants in the kitchens bustled away to prepare the evening meal Louis strolled through the castle, looking for inspiration and tidbits to pepper into his performance. He felt it very important to keep all of his castle gossip up to date in order to keep his act relevant.

     He was halfway through one of the apples he’d been trying to juggle when he heard laughter outside. Louis crept towards the open window beside the armory and recognised the voices of two high ranking men. He ducked out of view and settled in to listen for a bit.

     “ − not exactly hard on the eyes, either,” came one voice.

     “Wouldn’t have taken you as the type to try for king,” came the other.

     “It’s not marriage I’m after, Lad,” the first snickered. “You don’t always have to marry every girl you fuck.”

     Louis rolled his eyes.

     “You’d best be careful with that one though, she could have yer head if you left her broken hearted. It’s dangerous for a girl to have that kind of power.”

     “Better than her brother,” the man laughed.

     “We can thank the Goddess the queen had her first,” the other agreed. “Can you imagine?”

     “Maybe they should have been switched,” he snorted. “He’d have made a better girl.”

     “It’d have been more fitting, what with his tendencies.”

     “If I were the king I’d have wed him off years ago.”

     “It’s not for lack of trying,” the man snickered. “They’re probably eager as anything to hand him off to some other kingdom, but the kid can’t seem to choose a bride.”

     “I don’t think it’s a bride he’s after,” came the chuckling voice. “Unless of course it was  _ him _ in the dress. A bit  _ satyrion _ , isn’t he?”

     They both howled with laughter, and Louis clenched his teeth.

     “Well no one can say our kingdom isn’t unique,” one snorted. “We’ve got a girl for a king and her brother for a queen!”

     Louis sat there silently fuming. How dare they speak about Harry in such a manner! He couldn’t believe that anyone could look at the prince and see him as anything but lovely. Louis had always heard talk around the castle, people calling the prince weak or mocking his eccentricities, but that had been back when the prince had been a faceless figure, only a vague idea of a person − some funny looking dandy with a chicken under his arm that the noble folk loved to laugh about. That had been before Louis had met the prince, had seen the gentleness of his every movement and the sharp wit he tried so hard to hide. Before he had known the pride that even the slightest twitch of Harry’s mouth could bring him, and the desperation he felt to see him smile.

     Without much thought Louis leaned out of the window and slung his apple core at the two men, successfully  thwacking one on the back of the head. The man let out a confused sort of a shout but Louis was already gone by the time they turned around.

 

     They had cleared a space in the great hall for Louis to perform, a big empty plot of land in front of the grand raised up chairs of royalty to serve as his stage. They’d lit the enormous chandelier and raised it high along with every hanging torch just for the occasion. Louis had used some of the powders and creams that Zayn had mixed for him and donned his best costume, his collar freshly starched and ruffled. He waited just outside the room so as to catch the prince before he sat down.

     “You’re like a dog outside the butcher’s,” Harry said when he saw him. He seemed in better spirits than usual, his deep frown replaced by something a bit softer, more malleable.

     “I told you I wouldn’t let up,” Louis grinned, offering his arm. “I thought you might like an escort.”

     “I think I can find my seat alright on my own actually,” Harry told him. “I’ve never had any trouble before.”

     “But you’ve been away so long,” Louis argued. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

     “I’ve lived here much longer than you have,” Harry countered. “If anyone were to get lost I’d rather place my money on you.”

     “Well then  _ you _ shall escort  _ me _ ,” Louis laughed. “It’s all the better, I’ve never been good with directions.”

     He swept out an arm dramatically and followed the prince into the room.

     “You know I’ve been planning this performance for months now,” Louis told him as they weaved through the chattering people of the court. “Almost since I was hired. I think it’ll be my best performance yet.”

     Harry’s lip twitched as if he were about to reply but stopped himself.

     “Not that difficult a feat, I know,” Louis mused, “but I think you’ll like this one. Why, you’ll be doubled over by the end of it, I guarantee. There will be sheepherders three kingdoms away laughing and not even knowing why, that’s just how powerful this performance will be. There’s no way even a man of such strength as yourself could withstand it. Just you wait, I’ll make you laugh at last!”

     “Ha,” Harry said again, eyes glimmering despite the firm set of his mouth.

     “You’ll see,” Louis promised as Harry took the jewel encrusted seat beside his father.

     He shot Harry a wink as he strode dramatically to the center of the floor, very nearly missing the rabbit-like twitch of his nose.

     “Ladies and Gentlemen of the court,” he crowed, effectively silencing the babbling that had been filling the room. He spread his arms wide, reveling in the feeling of so many eyes on him. “I would like, if I may, to tell a tale of my childhood. You see, I was not always the strapping vision of good humor you see before you!”

     As light chuckles spread through his audience Louis fell into his routine, always aware of one particular set of green eyes on him, always searching for one voice among the laughter.

     “No, I was once the gloomiest boy in the village, overwrought with melancholy without a smile to spare for anyone,” Louis continued, dancing across his makeshift stage as he spun the story. “My parents tried everything to raise my spirits, hired every comedian and performer around, but still I couldn’t smile. No twitch of my lips, nor even the slightest chuckle to be heard. It was as if I had no joy in me at all!”

     “You speak as if something has changed” the lady beside Lord Barrow snarked.

     “Oh?” Louis laughed. “I’m terribly sorry to bore you, Lady Dominic. You see I was a rather boring child. My parents grew so worried they decided to take me to a witch to have me cured!”

     Louis circled back to Harry, like a moth drawn back to the light, always circling him, always pulled to him.

     “The witch was an expert in these kinds of matters,” he smiled, looking up at the prince. “She took one look at me and my sorry face and declared the very thing we’d all been dreading:  _ He’s got no sense of humor at all, Poor Boy _ . Oh how my mother cried! My father shook his fists at the sky, cursing the gods and begging it not to be true!”

     If he hadn’t been watching the prince so intently he would have missed the little twitch to his mouth, quickly covered up with a scrunch of his nose.

     “But the witch knew the cure and she promised to fix me − for a reasonable price, of course! My parents couldn’t pay her fast enough! It’s no good to have a son with no sense of humor, you know. People would talk! And so I sat through her cures, all sorts of potions and tricks to fix me up. Each morning she’d coat my feet in egg yolks and snail’s slime then tickle me with ostrich feathers until I learned to laugh. Then she’d pour jam and toad’s blood on my head and fill my mouth with lemons until finally I learned to smile. For weeks she worked until finally I could tell a joke of my own. Oh how my parents rejoiced when she told them I’d been cured! They came to fetch me and asked to hear a joke. I puffed my chest and grinned my widest grin and told them all manner of awful jokes! The two of them groaned and turned to the witch and asked ‘ _ Haven’t you cured him? What use is humor if he can make only himself laugh? _ ’ and the witch replied ‘ _ Why, I made no promise of good humor, only a cure for none! _ ’”

     The crowd roared around him but his eyes were locked on Harry.

     Like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long and lonely winter, Harry’s lips stretched into a small, reluctant smile. Just the sight of it, faint as it was, set the jester’s heart singing.

     Louis grinned, open mouthed and unrestrained.

     He was like a bird in flight, given life by the sight of Harry’s smile, more beautiful than he could have imagined. As soon as it was free Harry had lifted his hand, placing delicate fingers over his lips to cage his smile once more. Louis felt his heart throb in desperation, already addicted to the sight.

     “I was cured,” Louis breathed, moved almost to tears by the beauty before him. He finally understood why knights slaid dragons, if only to free a maiden from a tower.  _ He  _ had brought a smile to the prince’s face.  _ He _ had brought joy to a joyless boy. The pride that blossomed in his chest could have slain a thousand dragons. “The witch told them that with as bad a sense of humor as mine there could only be one career in my future:  _ A jester! _ ”

     He continued on, waltzing through the space, but never tearing his eyes from the prince for more than a moment. Harry was still trying to batten down his smile, teeth pressed harshly into his lip, fingers hiding it from view, and Louis worried that he’d never see it again if he succeeded.

     “And so I began my quest to be a jester, to learn all the worst jokes and the most hideous of routines!”

     “We could have guessed that ourselves!” came a shout from the back.

     “No need to convince us how bad your jokes are, Tommo!” someone chuckled in agreement.

     Louis wouldn’t let them dampen his mood. He had made the prince smile, and he felt as if he was walking on air.

     “Well  _ I _ think my jokes are wonderful!” Louis laughed, prancing lightly through the space. “Fit for a prince, aren’t they?”

     “And which prince would that be?”

     “Only the most beautiful prince in the world!” he told them all defiantly. He began to puff up his chest, setting his hips in a more feminine stance. “Why, you never did send me that portrait, Sweet Prince!”

     There was a smattering of anticipatory laughter as people recognised this character. Louis took a deep breath, ready to take on the motherly persona as he sung praise for the prince.

     “More of a princess, isn’t he?”

     A hush fell over the hall, quickly replaced by the sort of indulgent chuckles heard when one knew they weren’t meant to laugh but couldn’t help it. Louis could see Harry fall back in his chair, eyes downcast. His shine had been dimmed. A shine Louis had worked very hard to get back. 

     He had quite been looking forward to continuing the adventures of Lady Asher − he’d commissioned Zayn for new costume pieces and everything − but all of that fell quickly from his mind.

     Louis turned to face the lord who’d spoken with a dazzling smile but absolute fury in his eyes. 

     “Any princess so lovely would need a prince at her side.”

     “You volunteering, Tommo?” one of the other lords called with a laugh. 

     Louis turned on his heel, sweeping his arms out to address the crowd with a marvelous theatrical air. 

     “ _ Would _ that the prince were a princess!”

     Laughter bubbled through the crowd.

     “My poor fool’s heart would have no chance against such a beauty,” Louis went on, raising his hand in gesture to Harry. “Surely such a lovely one as this would have suitors in abundance. Nobility from far and wide would die for this princess’ hand, I’m sure. I would be no match for any foreign princes with a sword in hand, but perhaps I would have a fighting chance if only I could make the melancholy maiden laugh. What noble a trade would that be, the heart of the princess in exchange for her own laughter!”

     Louis turned his head to send Harry the swiftest of winks, holding his gaze just long enough to catch a blush blooming on the prince’s cheeks. Emboldened by that soft joyous pink and by the booming laughter of the court, Louis continued, stepping forward and holding his hands over his heart in a mock swoon.

     “Oh, what the simple sound of laughter could do for a fool such as I,” he simpered, staggering about as if drunk with love. “Like bells in a church or the songbirds in a meadow, what I wouldn’t give for the laughter of a princess so lovely as the one before me. But I could never dream to be a good enough man for this one here, neigh I’d sooner crumble before this beauty. No chance have I to caress a cheek so soft, so rosey such as this. My lips would sooner shrivel up and fall from my face than they would get close enough to touch a mouth so sweet and shapely as the one she hath possess. Why, even my ears would sooner grow wings and fly away before I’d ever have the pleasure of hearing her speak − I’d sooner die than hear her laugh.”

     He spun on his heel, across the hall from Harry now, and began a slow lop back to him, his eyes filled with emotion. Even from a distance he could see the smile threatening to break free once more from Harry’s lips.

     “Ah!” he bellowed, letting the joy overtake his own face as he pointed to Harry. “Do you see? Or have my eyes betrayed me? I could almost swear that I saw a smile there for a moment but it cannot be! I have not done such great service as to be graced with such a sight. No, it must have been a trick of the light, for no lowly a fool as I could ever pull such a lovely−−  _ There! _ ”

     Louis came closer, his knees wobbling in feigned anguish as the hall erupted around him in delight. Harry was wrinkling his nose, trying to tuck his head into his shoulder as his fingers krept up to cover his own mouth once more. Louis laced his fingers together and held them under his chin.

     “ _ Please, _ Sweet Lady,” he pleaded, falling to his knees and hobbling across the floor as if in prayer. “If you shall smile, smile! If you shall grin then grin! If you should, by the graces of the Goddess, deign to laugh, let your laughter ring free that I may hear!”

     Harry’s shoulders were shaking lightly and he held his fist firmly over his lips, his face flushing down to his neck. Louis threw himself closer and closer with a heightened desperation that he found he didn’t have to fake.

     “Do you see how she fights it?” he asked, laid despondently at Harry’s feet. “A better man than I may have won her heart with ease, but still she fights me so! Oh dear sweet Princess, why must you tease my heart? You let me get so close, My Love, but then you scorn me with such spite!”

     He let his face crumple with a loud dramatic wail, reaching out and curling his hand around Harry’s akle as though clinging to life itself.

     He buried his sobbing face in Harry’s lap, holding his leg against his chest like a child gripping their mother’s skirts.

     He was so caught up in the drama of his performance that he almost could have missed it.

     Almost missed the sharp bark that rang out above him, silencing the court as they sat in shock at the sight before them.

     The Prince − The Brooding Boy of Sommerstarr who had scarcely smiled in the two years since his mother’s passing − caught in loud uncontrollable peals of laughter. He clutched his stomach desperately, as though holding himself together, his head thrown back and his ruffled collar bouncing and shaking with the force of his laughter.

     Louis untucked his face to rest his chin on the prince’s knee, still holding his legs in his hands, and smiled up at him fondly.

     “There she is,” he said reverently. He spoke softly, only to Harry. “At long last. Just as beautiful as I’d imagined.”

     He kept him laughing, running his fingers into the spaces behind his knees and reaching up to poke at a dimple, until there were tears streaming down Harry’s face and Louis wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying anymore.

     Even Harry didn’t seem to know.

     “Come on then,” he said once Harry had quieted down to sharp hiccuping breaths that shook his frame. Louis stood before him and offered his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Shall we, My Lady?”

     People were talking again, low whispers and stifled chuckles that made Louis’ skin crawl. Laughter was good, if they were laughing then they weren’t talking − talking always meant gossip. Sharp biting gossip that would surely swirl around the castle grounds and nip at the ankles of its subject until they were raw and bleeding. Louis didn’t want any of them talking about Harry.

     He took Harry’s hand in his own and pulled him up beside him with a flourish.

     “I daresay that I’ve won my own challenge,” he declared, turning back to the court. “One laugh in exchange for a princess’ heart? I never thought I do it but I have found success at last!”

     He twisted to look at the king, clutching earnestly at his own chest.

     “Have I proved myself worthy, Your Majesty, that I may collect my prize and have your blessing?”

     Robin chuckled boisterously, the lords around them joining in when they saw the delight on the king’s face.

     “Of course, My Boy,” he agreed, playing along with Louis’ joke. “How could I deny any who has brought such joy to my child?”

     “Oh blessed day!” Louis cried, pulling Harry’s hand to his lips and kissing the flat of it, making the court explode in laughter once more. “Come, My Love! We shall wed at dawn!”

     He pulled Harry swiftly from the hall, leaving jeers and laughter and shouts of congratulation behind, settling his focus once more on the blushing flustered prince. Once the laughter left his body Harry had shrunken back into his usual state of quiet discomfort, now raked through with a shy embarrassment at his own outburst. What Louis wouldn’t give to return him to the giggling carefree boy he’d seen only moments before.

     “You’re very beautiful when you laugh,” Louis commented without thought, strolling further from the hall with Harry’s hand still clasped in his own. Harry didn’t respond, chewing harshly on his own bottom lip. Louis wanted to stop him, to reach up and remove the tender skin from between his teeth himself, but he held back. “I’d like to hear it more often, your laughter.”

     Harry only shrugged. He made a turn that would lead towards his own rooms but kept his hand in Louis’, pulling the other man along with him.

     “I don’t often lose control like that,” Harry murmured, so softly that Louis nearly missed it.

     “I wish that you would,” Louis told him, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, back in the hall.”

     “That’s your job, isn’t it?” Harry asked, starting up the stairs towards his bedchambers.

     “Not necessarily,” Louis shrugged, following just a stair behind. “My job is to make you happy, and to entertain the court. If I can do both at the same time, I’d like to. And you seemed happy enough, but I’d hate to have offended.”

     “You didn’t,” Harry said in the same soft voice. He sounded sure, though.

     They ascended the stairway in silence, their hands still linked between them. The heels on Harry’s shoes tapped musically against the stones beneath them and the bells on Louis’ cap rang out to accompany them. Harry stopped when they finally reached his door and turned to face Louis who leaned his head on the doorframe.

     “Will you dream of me tonight, My Love?” Louis asked, letting his eyes grow big and lovesick.

     “I’ll do no such thing,” Harry claimed, turning up his nose at the suggestion.

     “I see your heart is as elusive as ever!” Louis cried, throwing himself back against the wall in a fit of dramatics that brought a new smile to Harry’s face. “What more must I do to win your love, Sweet Princess?”

     “You’re a fool,” Harry declared, despite the fond little smile on his face.

     “Only for you, My Love,” Louis promised, every ounce of jest evaporating from his face, replaced by a soft smile. “Only ever for you.”


	5. Harry

     Harry felt as though he hadn’t known peace since he returned to court.

     At every corner there was a jester ready to pounce, trying impressions and improvising nonsense songs and driving Harry absolutely mad. Even up in his secluded tower there was always the draw of the window and the faint tinkling of bells from out in the fields. Harry could swear that the man had placed some sort of enchantment on the window, so that Harry was unable to stay away. Because the man was annoying, Harry was sure of it. He was loud and rude and he refused to leave Harry alone. The only reason that Harry kept watching him so closely was to keep tabs on him, to stay vigilant, so that he might avoid him.

     The jester was the worst thing that had ever happened to Harry, and the nervous fluttery feeling he got when he saw him was caused purely by the hatred he felt for him.

     He was only waiting him out, anxious for the day that his father would finally dismiss the fool and Harry could finally retreat to his tower without the looming threat of jokes and jests and foolishness. Then he could finally be alone again and he wouldn’t have to try so hard to keep a handle on his traitorous mouth which had been so keen to betray him.

     As Harry ambled through the trees on the outskirts of the castle grounds he revelled in the silence around him. There was a tournament on across the kingdom and nearly everyone had left the castle to see it. The servants who hadn’t been brought along had been given the day off so there was a quiet emptiness surrounding the place. A blissful, blessed emptiness that Harry was keen to use to his advantage. He’d already walked every corridor, breathing in the peacefulness of a quiet castle − no footsteps but his own, no voices calling after him, and no heads bowing as he walked past. He was free to spend his day however he pleased, so he dug out the dusty wicker basket that his mother had always used for collecting produce and set off towards the old forgotten orchards.

     He was tired of being in the castle, tired of keeping up appearances and pretending to be something he wasn’t.

     That week they’d began introducing him to seemingly every lady in the kingdom, arranging countless meetings and dances as he held every small gloved hand in his own and bowed before each maiden as they curtsied before him. It was all too stiff and clinical and methodical and with every introduction he felt his collar growing tighter. Each time his father would give him a knowing little wink and the girl before him would act shy and demure and Harry felt nauseous with the wrongness of it all. He could almost cry at the relief of loneliness and barren trees, finally safe from tight-lipped smiles and formal pleasantries.

     He wove through gnarled trees as old as sin and stepped carefully over long fallen logs and branches. The orchards had once been neat and manicured, tended to daily by the castle staff, but overtime some deal had been made with local farmers and the kitchens had stopped using castle-grown produce all together. Harry had always liked the old orchards though, they stood like ghosts of another time yet still produced fruit like clockwork, even after so long forgotten.

     He ducked under the low hanging branch of a grizzled oak tree and nearly slipped on the damp leaves at its base.

     “Good morrow, Fair Prince!”

     Harry let out a little shriek, his legs sliding out from under him as he fell directly on his ass to the forest floor. He glared up at Louis who had swung swiftly to hang upside down from a branch over his head. He was grinning cheekily, his lute cradled against his chest.

     “It’s well past noon,” Harry grumbled, slowly picking himself up.

     Louis took hold of his branch one handed and tumbled gracefully to land on his feet beside Harry.

     “You’re looking lovely today, as always.”

     Harry gave no reply, brushing off his pale blue hose as best he could and continuing on towards the orchard. Louis followed him.

     “What’s the basket for?” Louis asked, skirting around him like a pesky pet. “Are you starting a new fashion? I’ll have to get my own, I’d hate to be so drab without one. Do they come in other colors? I’ll have to ask Zayn. Or is he too busy weaving you a new wicker wardrobe? You really ought to give him a break one of these days. He works too hard. And now with these baskets, I doubt he’ll sleep for weeks. Just be sure he’s had a chance to make one for me before you let him off, yeah?”

     “Peaches,” Harry muttered. “It’s for peaches.”

     “And what might a prince so perfect need peaches for?” Louis grinned. “Have you got a penchant that prescribes a peach to palliate? Are you − ”

     “I’m making a pie.”

     Louis’ smile only grew.

     “A peach pie to please a perfect prince?”

     Harry bit his lip. He would not laugh at another one of Louis’ jokes.

     “That’s precisely the procedure to bring a person pleasure − with that perfect produce, peaches.”

     Harry turned away, looking up at the row of peach trees they’d arrived at. He hooked his basket around his elbow and began to fill it, searching out the ripest peaches and looking them over for holes or splits before adding them to his pile. The trees around them were heavy, laden as they were with fruit in varying stages of heft. Branches bent down to offer a bounty of rosy peaches and Harry was eager to indulge.

     “You know, Your Highness,” Louis mused, settling in at the base of one tree with his back against its trunk and one of its peaches dripping down his chin, “you  _ are _ a prince. I’m sure the cooks would gladly make you a pie when they get back. Unless this is some sort of a pie-related emergency?”

     “This is the only time I can make a pie,” Harry frowned, studying the peach in his hand and looking for imperfections.

     “When everyone is out and the ovens have all cooled?” Louis spectated.

     “Yes.”

     “ _ Or _ you could wait a day, and a whole team of bakers would make you a sea of pies,” Louis pointed out, slurping noisily at the peach juice gathering in the palm of his hand.

     Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste, placing another peach in his basket.

     “I don’t like the pie they make.” Louis opened his mouth to protest (or maybe to take another bite of his second peach) so Harry added, “But I won’t tell them that. That’s rude. So I’ve got to wait until everyone leaves and no one can hover over my shoulder or shoo me out of the kitchens or ask why I never eat their peach pies if I like them so much.”

     Louis was silent for a minute, watching him through the leaves with an odd look on his face.

     Harry ignored him, moving to the next tree to inspect its fruit.

     “So you like peaches then?”

     Harry pointedly didn’t look when he saw Louis follow him.

     “Or just in pies?”

     Louis swung himself onto the lowest branch of the tree and plucked a peach from over Harry’s head. He held it up beside his face and twisted it about as if moving a puppet.

     “Oh,  _ Louis _ ,” he drawled in an exaggerated imitation of Harry’s deep tenor. “As you know, you are my  _ very _ favorite jester and I’ve just  _ got _ to get to know you a bit better. I simply  _ must _ ask you, are you a fan of peaches?”

     He tossed his head, pretending to think about the question.

     “Why yes, Harry, I am quite a fan of peaches. Thank you so much for asking! I never ate them much as a child, but these ones here are quite nice. I think I’ve grown quite the appreciation for them.”

     Harry’s mouth twitched, despite himself.

     “And what of you?” Louis asked the peach, grinning.

     “Oh I  _ love _ them,” he drawled in Harry’s voice. “They must be one of my favorite fruits, especially baked into a pie. You’ve got to love a good peach pie − when it’s baked right, of course.”

     “Of course,” Louis agreed, nodding seriously.

     “You’re quite the peach yourself, aren’t you?”

     Louis turned bashful, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

     “Oh Harry,” he simpered. “Stop that! You flatter me so!”

     The non-peach Harry snorted, turning away to hide his all too-wide smile.

     “You know you  _ can _ laugh,” Louis said, lowering the peach. “I’ve seen you do it. It is generally what happens when people are around me, Sweet Princess.”

     Harry could feel his cheeks reddening.

     He wished that Louis could have forgotten that night, and he wished that there wasn’t a small part of him that liked it when Louis teased him in such a fashion, that maybe wished it weren’t teasing.

     Harry fussed with his basket, holding out hope that if he ignored him long enough Louis would leave him alone.

     Instead, Louis settled onto a branch with his legs swinging freely below him and began to pluck his lute.

_      The sweetest girl in Sommerstarr _

_      The one who’s stolen all my heart _

_      The sweetest girl in all the world _

_      Is the lad with the auburn curls _

     He sang with a wide smile on his face, delighting in the pink of Harry’s cheeks.

     Harry gathered up his basket, deciding it was full enough, and started back towards the castle at a brisk pace. Behind him Louis lept from the tree, chasing after him without missing a beat.

_ Princeling please be kind to me _

__ _ For I’m delicate you know _

__ _ And if you should deny my pleas _

__ _ I’d fall apart just so _

     He added a desperation to his voice, trailing after Harry like a scorned lover. Harry continued to ignore him as they wove through the forest, Louis always just a step behind him, singing of anguish and unrequited love. Harry wanted to scream, if only to drown him out.

     “Do you ever stop such foolishness?” Harry asked when at last they broke free of the forest. Louis dropped his lute to his side, seemingly unshaken.

     “No,” he smiled blandly. “That’s my game, innit? Foolishness. Can’t be a fool without a bit of foolishness.”

     Harry sighed in exasperation and trudged on across the lawn, increasing his speed with the empty hope that Louis might fall behind. He passed by Geraldine and her flock of ducks without even stopping to exchange pleasantries. He would have to bring her a slice of pie later on as an apology. He stomped through the door to the kitchens with Louis trailing just behind him, still strumming away happily.

     “How may I assist you, Fair Maiden?” Louis asked as Harry lined up his ingredients. He stood with his chest puffed out, as if he were a knight receiving a quest.

     “You could start by going back to your quarters and leaving me be.”

     “Not a chance, My Lady,” Louis grinned, slinging himself up to sit on the work table.

     Harry hated the way his eyes tracked the graceful movement.

     “You don’t have to be here,” Harry grumbled as he lined up the ingredients. “We’re the only ones left in the castle, nobody would see if you weren’t doing your job.”

     “I hardly think the prince of Sommerstarr is nobody.”

     Harry sighed, beginning to slice peaches from the basket with perhaps too much vehemence. Louis grabbed one of the peaches again, dramatically examining it in the sunlight streaming through the ancient kitchen windows.

     “You know the prince can be quite moody,” he told the peach conspiratorially. “I’d always heard so, but I thought they must be exaggerating. He does work himself into quite the strop though. I only wish I knew how to work him out of it.”

     Harry rolled his eyes, cutting through the peaches with more force, his knife snapping against the wooden cutting board with a solid  _ thwack _ .

     “I’ve tried treating him sweetly,” Louis continued, conversing with the silent peach, “but he seems to think me false. Perhaps I should be cruel − scorn him as he scorns me and see how he likes that? Or maybe I’ll play aloof, like some sultry maiden waiting to be won. Maybe that’s the sort of thing he likes.”

     Harry scoffed, pulling another peach from the basket.

     “Excuse me,” Louis told him, looking affronted. “This is a private conversation I’m having. Did you need to say something?”

     He waited a moment before sighing and turning back to the peach in his hand.

     “Did you see that? He can be so vain, thinks everything’s about him. It’s like he thinks my only job is to entertain him. To be fair, that  _ is _ my only job, but he doesn’t need to  _ act _ like it. You know he’s drug me around with him all day, he has. I had to chase him all through the woods, climbing trees and playing him music all to keep him happy. And how does he repay me? He  _ ignores _ me. Won’t even say thank you. He’s been spoiled. And how would a prince even know how to bake a pie in the first place? What could make  _ his _ pie so much better than any found in the rest of the kingdom? Surely − ”

     “I used to work in a bakery,” Harry cut him off, snatching the last peach out of Louis’ hand and sliding the knife through it. “Every spring. With my mum.”

     Louis was silent for a moment. Harry still wasn’t quite ever looking at Louis’ face, but he could hear the halfway repressed excitement in his voice when he asked, “Recently?”

     “No.” Harry gave in for a moment. “When I was little. She liked to bake and it was good for public image.”

     “So you’ve always baked?” Louis asked, sliding from the countertop to crowd closer to Harry, cornering him in the tight workspace. “Was it for Beltane? Did you get to visit the festival? I’ve always loved the maypole. Did you get to participate? Or were you too closely watched? What sort of things did you bake? Which bakery was it? Did you ever get to make a wreath?”

     He babbled out a long stream of questions without once stopping to take a breath and Harry slowly folded in on himself, overwhelmed by the questions and by their close proximity and by the memories flooding his head.

     “Stop,” he choked out at last. “Stop it.”

     Louis froze, his expression twisting into a sort of sad concern.

     “Harry?”

     “Can’t you ever stop talking?” Harry frowned. “I thought I’d finally have a single day of peace but you won’t stop  _ talking _ .”

     “I’m sorry,” Louis told him, looking earnest. “I should have realized. What if... What if I don’t speak the whole rest of the day? I won’t make a sound.”

     “I don’t think you could,” Harry scoffed halfheartedly.

     “I won’t,” Louis swore. “Honest. I won’t say a thing. You’ll have complete silence. And I’ll help you with your pie. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’d like to help you.”

     Harry thought it over for a moment, studying Louis’ face. His blue eyes were deep and open, pleading with him, his lips pulled closed for the first time Harry could remember.

     He nodded tentatively and Louis smiled, staying silent.

     “Here,” Harry told him, pointing to the sack of flour and handing him a measuring cup. “Measure out three cups.”

     Louis nodded eagerly, jaw clamped shut.

     Harry watched him work, giving out orders and correcting him when he reached for the wrong ingredients. Louis stayed quiet the entire time, raising his eyebrows and pointing at things when he had questions, placing gentle hands on Harry’s back when he needed to slide past him. They worked in silence, dancing around each other and working together to create something sweet and warm and hopeful.


	6. Louis

     “Have you seen Harry?” Louis asked Niall one afternoon when spring was just visible on the horizon.

     Asking where Harry was had become a steady routine since the boy had returned to the castle and the words were always on the tip of Louis’ tongue. He had begun to quite like searching for the prince, and he suspected that Harry had begun hiding in more interesting places just to see how long it would take Louis to find him. He’d found him near dusk the week before holed up in a linen closet between piles of quilts with a nearly finished book in his lap. Louis had simply squeezed in beside him and shut the door behind himself, bathing them in dim light, and watched as Harry turned the last few pages of his book.

     Ever since the day of the peach pie they’d built a sort of a truce.

     Louis would still ask questions and follow him around but he would also sit beside him from time to time without speaking. They’d sit in silence together for however long it took until someone came to drag Harry off to his next princely duty, or until Harry broke the silence himself.

     It was odd, and Louis kept expecting Harry to push him away or to go wherever it was that he went when Louis really couldn’t find him, but he always let Louis sit beside him. It felt like a very delicate sort of thing and Louis was terrified that he’d break it.

     “He’s out with Lady Geraldine,” Niall told him, polishing one of Liam’s swords. As squire to the head guard he was often busy with small tasks for the man.

     “Lady Geraldine?”

     Louis had heard a lot about Lady Geraldine, but he’d never seen the girl. He suspected that she might be the busty girl with the glossy red hair who always seemed to be watching Harry across the hall at dinner, but he’d never gotten confirmation. He’d heard the name from almost everybody though. The man who ran the stables had told him about how sad Lady Geraldine had been when Harry left the palace and how she’d barely eaten for weeks. Gemma had even mentioned her, saying how good it was for Harry to have someone to talk to other than Lady Geraldine, who had always been his only confidant.

     Louis was desperate to know who this mysterious girl could be who had so fully caught the prince.

     “Yeah,” Niall nodded. “Last I saw he was taking her out to the duck pond.”

     Louis thanked him and ran out to the field, following the sounds of quacking ducks and looking around for the girl he’d heard so much about. As he approached the pond he could make out only one figure at its edge and he squinted, trudging through the grass.

     When Louis got closer he could see that the prince was standing in the pond, the water lapping gently at the skin just above his knees, his back straight but bent at the waist to hold a tawny chicken a few inches above the water. He’d left his shoes and his stockings in the grass beside the pond, which left a good few inches of pale skin between the water and the gathers of his trunk hose. Louis couldn’t help but blush, raising his eyes quickly to watch the prince’s stiff, purposeful posture. All around him ducks swam about happily, quacking and splashing, twisting upside down in the water and wriggling their tails in the air. But Harry stood still, only moving to better angle the chicken towards the water fowl whenever one swam near. He had a small bit of twine tying up the longer curls on the top of his head, as if he was worried they’d get wet if they were left loose around his ears. He looked ridiculous and mad and Louis couldn’t help but fancy him.

     “What the absolute fuck are you doing?” Louis asked when he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

     Harry gave no start at his presence but to further tighten his jaw. Louis strolled forward, plopping himself down at the edge of the water beside Harry’s things, doing his best to ignore that he’d only given himself a better view of the prince’s pose.

     “Are you trying to teach her to swim?” Louis called, louder than he needed to with only a dozen or so feet between them. “You’re supposed to hold her  _ in _ the water, Lad, not above it.”

     “She’s socialising,” Harry bit out and Louis could see the furrow of his brow over his shoulder.

     “Do you always hold her like that when she’s socializing?” Louis grinned, leaning back on his arms to watch.

     “Sometimes.”

     Harry’s face was set in either concentration or annoyance. Maybe a mix of the two.

     “Does she need help socialising? Some people are like that,” Louis mused. “Some people don’t know how to talk to each other at  _ all! _ I’m so glad you’re not like that. I’d hate to have to carry every conversation myself. But I’d do it, I would! Only if I had to, of course. I may love the sound of my own voice but even  _ I’d _ drive myself mad eventually. Why! Imagine that! Lowly Tommo, the poor fool, talking himself to death! But of course I’d never have to − not with a conversationalist such as yourself around to save me.”

     Harry kept his face angled pointedly at the pond, ignoring Louis for all he was worth.

     “I don’t like her feeling left out,” he grumbled.

     “Oh?” Louis sat up.

     “There was a mix up,” Harry told him, speaking to the water. “When I was a kid. One of the hen’s eggs got into a duck nest, so when the mother duck started brooding she hatched the chicken egg along with her own. That’s how she was born. I’d always liked playing with the ducklings, so I noticed that she was different right away. She’d try and follow the mother around like the others, but they’d go in the water and she couldn’t follow. I tried to introduce her to the other chickens, to see if she’d fit in better there, but the other hens would peck at her, shove her out of the crowd when they ate, made her sleep on the worst roosts in the henhouse. I’d always check on her when I could, try and keep an eye on her. I’d give her extra food and put up extra roosts for her, but she was still missing feathers from them pecking her and you could tell she was terribly sad. So I decided I’d be her friend since no one else would, and she started following me around instead. Eventually she found her way back in with the ducks, and they let her now. They don’t mind her, and she likes them, so now she’s a duck. It’s as simple as that.”

     “But she still can’t swim,” Louis said, looking down at the serene expression on the chicken’s face. He didn’t know if it was caused more by the proximity to the duck pond or to the prolonged time being held by Harry.

     “No,” Harry shook his head, his frown deepening. “I don’t want her to feel left out when the others go for a swim and she’s stuck standing on the shore. Swimming is a good time for ducks to socialise. It’s important for her to be here.”

     “Of course,” Louis nodded even though Harry wasn’t looking at him. “It’s very important.”

     Louis watched as Harry brought the chicken up to his chest, smoothing her feathers and clucking softly under his breath. He smiled fondly as they conversed back and forth, the hen nipping lightly at the rings on his fingers.

     “Have you met Lady Geraldine, Louis?”

     Harry was looking over his shoulder at him so Louis sat up straighter.

     “I have not.”

     “Louis, this is Geraldine,” he said, holding out the chicken so that Louis could see her better − or maybe so that she could see him. “Geraldine this is Louis.”

     “ _ This _ is Lady Geraldine?” Louis asked, somewhat incredulously.

     Harry looked at him blankly.

     Geraldine clucked, sounding offended.

     “I,” Louis fumbled. “I didn’t know she was a chicken. I thought she might be a girl you were courting.”

     “No,” Harry frowned, his brows furrowed. “I’m not courting any girls. I’m not courting anyone.”

     “Oh,” Louis said as Harry began to wade out of the water. He looked away, feeling a bit scandalised by the sight of his bare knees. “Good. I mean, uh, good. I was afraid you were courting someone and I didn’t know about it. That’s the sort of thing I should know, as your personal jester.”

     Harry set Geraldine on the ground and sat down beside Louis.

     “I might have to start courting someone,” he said, frowning as he rolled one stocking over his still wet leg.

     “You don’t look happy about it,” Louis said, watching him. He kept glancing down and blushing at the sight of his bare legs, forcing his eyes back to Harry’s face.

     Harry was silent, seemingly concentrated on straightening all the wrinkles in the silk.

     “I keep thinking I’ve met every last suitable girl in the kingdom, and then they bring in more,” Harry grimaced. “Yesterday I told a girl that she had pretty eyes − because she  _ did _ have pretty eyes, they were a nice sort of dark brown − and my father gave me this  _ look _ and now they’re inviting her back tomorrow to see me again.”

     “Did you like her?”

     Harry looked up from where he’d been straightening his other stocking with an incredulous sort of look on his face.

     “Of course I didn’t. I don’t like any of them, that’s the problem. I’m sure she’s lovely, and I’m sure the rest of them are lovely too, but I don’t want to  _ marry _ any of them. It’s just− It’s just keeping up appearances, isn’t it? The prince can’t go too long without at least  _ looking _ for a wife or people will start to talk. They already talk enough about me.”

     “Let them talk,” Louis told him flippantly. “It doesn’t matter what people say. None of them know anything about you.”

     “But it does matter,” Harry frowned. “If people talk enough, it could weaken the power of the crown. It could ruin everything my family has worked so hard to establish.”

     He pulled his beautifully gilded shoes back over his stockings and stood up, dusting off his rose colored truck-hose, and started back towards the castle. Louis scrambled up to follow him.

     “What could I do to bring a smile back to the princess’ face?” Louis asked, circling around him. “Must I fight every suitor to win back your heart? Have they forgotten so easily that I won it before the court? Even the king himself agreed that you were mine.”

     Harry furrowed his brows and refused to meet Louis’ eyes, seemingly at war with himself inside his head. Louis walked backwards across the grass to keep watching him as he spoke.

     “I’ve no skill with a sword in hand but I’d challenge every one of them to a duel,” he promised. “I’d challenge every person in the kingdom if it made you happy. No one would dare speak ill of you while I stood at your side, Sweet Princess.”

     “Stop that,” Harry told him, trying to brush past him. “You speak such doltish things. I don’t want to hear any more of your inane foolishness.”

     “Why?” Louis asked, stopping him with a soft hand on his chest. “Why must it be foolish? Why couldn’t I be serious?”

     “Because,” Harry bit his lip, staring hard at Louis’ shoulder. “Because that’s not the sort of thing you could be serious about. You lie. You tell silly lies that make people laugh. You pretend to be someone else, and you pretend that  _ I’m _ someone else. It’s all a game. It’s a stupid game.”

     “It’s not a game.” Harry scoffed, trying to push past him once more but Louis held his ground. “And I’ve never once told you a lie.”

     “All you do is lie. Jests and tricks and made up stories, that’s your trade. I’d never trust a word from your mouth.”

     “I tell stories,” Louis conceded, “but a good one must be based in truth. And my stories tend to get a bit more truthful when I’m around you, Princess.”

     He couldn’t help but glance down at Harry’s mouth where his pink bottom lip was caught harshly between his teeth. He reached up with one hand and brushed his thumb over the lip, watching as it was released.

     “Bullshite,” Harry whispered. He shook his head and Louis’ hand fell away from his face, resting instead just below the collar of his blouse, over his rapidly beating heart.

     “I doesn’t matter if I’m Tommo or Lady Asher or just Louis,” Louis promised. “I don’t lie.”

     Harry stood before him, conflicted emotions flickering over his face.

     “Prince Harry!” they heard called from inside. Harry took a swift step backwards and Louis’ hands fell to his sides. “You’ve got a package in the post.”

     “I’ll take it up to my rooms,” Harry called back, his voice sounding hollow and reedy.

     He stepped around Louis and walked to the entrance of the castle before he stopped and looked back.

     “Are you coming?”

     Louis rushed to follow him and together they walked tensely through the corridor.

     “Here you are, Sir,” the page who had called them in said, holding up a large box with a silk ribbon tied around it. Harry reached for it but Louis beat him to it, taking the package himself.

     They thanked the page and started up the stairs to the prince’s chamber, their steps echoing all around them.

     “Do you make a habit of befriending farm animals then?” Louis asked, the heavy box in his arms beating back against his chest with every step.

     “Sometimes.”

     “That’s good of you,” Louis told him, trying to ignore the flood of images in his head of Harry surrounded by small fuzzy animals. He was afraid he’d drop the box if he thought about it too much.

     “They’re very quiet,” Harry said as they neared his door. “They don’t make me talk.”

     “You love it when I make you talk,” Louis smiled, stopping outside of Harry’s door. He held out the box, waiting for Harry to take it as he had with every package Louis had delivered.

     “Would you set in on the table over there?” Harry asked, holding the door open.

     Louis perked up, almost expecting Harry to slam the door shut on him as he stepped tentatively into the room.

     “Here?” he asked, walking towards a small sitting area in one corner.

     “Yeah.”

     Louis sat the package on the gold and white painted coffee table and straightened up, hovering as he waited for Harry to lead him back out.

     “Would you like some tea?”

     “I would love some tea.”

     Harry sat down at one of the cushioned seats and produced a shining porcelain tea set which he sat beside the box on the table. While he doled what looked to be dried rose petals and herbs into the delicate cups, Louis sat across from him and looked around the room.

     The whole place smelled pleasantly of roses and was decorated with all of the luxury expected of a prince. Each piece of furniture was carved elaborately from the finest wood, each cushion embroidered with the finest thread and stuffed with the finest feathers. There was a wash of gold over every surface that seemed to glitter in the setting sun that shone through the large windows. Everything was beautiful and pristine and grand, yet nothing was as he would have imagined Harry’s rooms to be.

     There were small hints of Harry scattered about − the hideous painting of a cat hanging near the bed or the grand vanity Louis could see through the large archway that lead to his boudoir − but in all the room felt stark despite the ornate furnishings. It felt more like a guest room or a museum than a bedroom. 

     He’d always pictured Harry holed up in some little squirrel's nest filled with books and dusty figurines and all the lovely things in the world, not this sparkling display of grandeur. 

     “Sugar?”

     “Please.”

     Harry spooned sugar into Louis’ cup and handed it over. When Louis brought the pink-tinged liquid closer he could smell the roses blooming in the water. He took a sip, letting it warm him from the inside out.

     “Did you mean it?” Harry asked after a few loaded moments.

     “Mean what?” Louis asked, lowering his cup. “I mean a lot of things. I’ve been meaning to mend my best trousers for weeks. I was mean to Liam yesterday and he’s still cross with me. I’m meant to − ”

     “Don’t do that,” Harry pleaded. “Don’t joke right now. Please.”

     “I’m sorry,” Louis winced, setting his cup gently back on the table and clearing his throat. “Old habit. I did. I do. Mean it, I mean. I do mean it.”

     “Mean what?” Harry asked quietly.

     Louis wanted to tease him, to make another joke.

     He didn’t.

     “Everything.”

     “Everything?” Harry frowned.

     “All of it,” Louis nodded. “Every word I’ve said.”

     “You’ve said a lot of words.”

     “That I have,” Louis smiled. “I’ve got quite the talent for it. But I only tell the truth.”

     “How do I know you’re telling the truth now?” Harry asked.

     “You’re afraid I’m lying about telling the truth?”

     “A bit.”

     “What if I tell you a secret?” Louis asked. “Something I’m quite embarrassed about.”

     Harry nodded his head tentatively.

     Louis leaned in and lowered his voice.

     “I can’t juggle. Not at all.”

     Harry snorted despite himself.

     “See?” Louis grinned. “It’s laughable, isn’t it? A jester who can’t juggle. I’m a disgrace, aren’t I?”

     “No more of a disgrace than I am.”

     “Don’t say that,” Louis said, his smile falling.

     “It’s true,” Harry told him. He reached for the package on the table and pulled it onto his lap, slowly pulling the ends of the bow until it fell apart in his hands. “Everybody says it. People talk.”

     “Ignore them,” Louis said fiercely, trying and failing to catch Harry’s eyes.

     “It’s not...” Harry frowned, carefully sliding his fingers under the paper wrapping to undo it. “It’s not that they talk. I don’t care about the rumors. It’s more that what they say is true.”

     “Which, er, which rumors?”

     Harry glanced up with a cynical look.

     “You know which ones.”

     He kept picking away at the paper, peeling back the edges.

     “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Lous told him.

     “Maybe if I were a stableboy,” Harry scoffed, “or an apprentice. Maybe if I were a million other things. But I’m not. I’m a prince. I’ve got to act like one. I’m never going to court any of the ladies they bring to me, and they all know it. My father and Gemma know it, even if they pretend that they don’t. Gemma just avoids the topic while  _ he _ pretends that I’m some secret Lothario who’s just waiting for the right time to choose a girl. But I won’t, I  _ can’t _ , and I’ll just disappoint them all in the end.”

     “Well,” Louis said, watching as Harry’s trembling fingers undid the last bit of the paper, revealing a simple wooden box. “If I wasn’t clear enough before, I believe you and I have more in common than our dashing good looks, My Prince.”

     Harry’s lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile.

     “And you’re not a disappointment,” Louis promised. “I’m not disappointed.”

     Harry pressed a sleeved wrist to his eyes, smiling despite himself.

     “You know the winter is nearly over, Sweet Harold.”

     “Is it?”

     “It is,” Louis nodded. “Which means the Beltane festival is only weeks away. I would like, if I may, to propose a new challenge for myself.”

     “Will it be like the first?” Harry asked, toying with the lid of the box.

     “Very much so,” Louis nodded. “If I can make you laugh, you must accompany me to the festival in town. Do you agree?”

     Harry thought it over for a moment, running his fingers over the box’s lid without opening it.

     “Isn’t one meant to bring a sweetheart to the festival?”

     “I believe that is the tradition,” Louis nodded.

     Harry kept tracing over the carvings on the box’s lid, thinking.

     “Alright,” Harry agreed at last, his voice soft. “If you succeed I’ll go with you.”

     Louis grinned, leaping from his seat and snatching up three oranges from the bowl on the table.

     “Are you ready to see something that nobody else in the world has seen before? This is my greatest shame, mind you, I haven’t shown anyone else.”

     Harry nodded, already smiling in anticipation.

     Louis took a deep breath, eyes narrowing in deep concentration.

     He tossed one orange into the air, following it with another and another before chasing each one, trying desperately to catch them all before they hit the ground. The first ricocheted off of his arm and knocked over his teacup while the second fell straight to the floor and split open with a wet splat. The third fell perfectly into his hand but as he closed his fingers around it it slid straight through and bounced off of his knee to roll sadly under Harry’s chair.

     Harry was holding the box to his chest and howling with laughter, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Louis bowed dramatically before collapsing to the floor, plagued by his own laughter. Harry slid lower and lower in his chair before finally sliding down to the floor beside Louis, his laughter rejuvenated by the fall. He slumped over sideways and the lid of his box was knocked from its top.

     “Oh, that’s lovely,” he gasped when his laughter had finally subsided. He moved aside some of the horsehair surrounding whatever he’d received to get a better look at it and Louis couldn’t help but think that nothing in the box could be as lovely as the boy sitting across from him.


	7. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beltane (May Day) is a celebration of life at the peak of Spring as flowers bloom and the world is filled with color once more. It is typically celebrated on the first of May in a festival of ‘flowers. fertility, sensuality and delight.’

     As April came to a close Harry was filled with a giddy sort of nervousness, counting down the days to Beltane. There was a swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach ever since Louis first hinted that there may be truth laying in the nonsense he spoke in court. He was afraid of what it would mean if the jester had really meant it, and yet he was terrified that Louis hadn’t. Every day he braced himself for Louis’ performances, Harry’s mind spinning out joke after joke at his own expense, imagining Louis’ face as he laughed at him, telling the court all about the elaborate trick he’d played on the prince. But it never happened. If anything, Louis’ declarations of devotion became even bolder, spoken with more earnestness than ever before. Harry was sure he’d been blushing for weeks, unable to hold back his smile when Louis so much as looked his way.

     On a cooling friday evening, just as the sun set through Harry’s chamber windows, a knock came at his door that was far too concise to have come from Louis. Harry crossed to pull the door open, and found Squire Niall failing miserably to repress apparent excitement. 

     “Oh, Squire,” Harry tentatively greeted him. 

     “I have something for you, My Liege,” Niall made an admirable effort to stop grinning.

     “Which is?”

     “A note, Sir, from a certain court jester whom we are all so very fond of −  _ some, _ ” Niall winked exaggeratedly, “more than others.”

     Harry sighed very deeply. Niall presented a very small folded note with a very large and exaggerated flourish. Harry took the torn corner of parchment.

     “Is that all, Squire?”

     “Wouldn’t His Majesty like to read this divulgence to the lowly squire that went to such extremes to make sure it arrived so promptly to His Majesty’s chambers?”

     Harry closed the door with an air of finality, shutting out Niall’s smug and nebby face.

     Door closed, Harry turned his back to it and slid down to sit on the marble floors, cold even through his stockings as he crossed his legs beneath him. Trying to slow his heartbeat, Harry caught the edge of the well folded note on a fingertip to smooth it open. It was only in quarters, but the suspense seemed endless until the moment he saw Louis’ heartfelt chicken scratch. 

_      Sweet Princess, _

_      I hope this fine evening finds you well. I would be much  _ _~~oblij~~ _ _ obliged if you would accompany me into town tomorrow for Beltane festivities involving, but most certainly not limited to, music, dancing (most likely of the maypole sort), food and drink, flower picking, flower wreath-ing (I do not know if that is a word?), and the like. If you agree, please meet me at the stables at dawn to allow suitable travel time. I  _ ~~_ devotedly _ ~~ __ ~~_ patiently  _ ~~ _  eagerly await your company.  _

_       ~~Love,~~ _ _ Affectionately Yours, _

_      Louis Tomlinson, Royal Court Jester, Esq. _

     Harry let loose a wide sincere smile, pressing the paper against his cupid’s bow and catching the faintest hint of the warm, earthy smell that seemed to catch in the folds of Louis’ clothes and in his hair. He allowed himself a few moments to close his eyes and bask in the elation of Louis’ echoed presence before pulling himself off of the floor. 

     He raced towards Zayn’s room, trying not to slip and fall in his wool socks. He scampered down the narrow stairs that lead to the upper servants’ quarters and nearly collided with Liam who was stepping out of Zayn’s room.

     “Oh!” Liam started, jumping when he saw Harry. “Your Highness! My apologies, My Lord, I...”

     “Sir Payne,” Harry tilted his head, slightly taken aback. He hadn’t seen Liam in less than a full suit of armor since he’d returned from France. “You’re dressed down this evening. What were you doing in this part of the castle?”

     Liam blinked.

     “I was having my coat mended,” he said, expression schooled. “The patches. They were... Coming loose.”

     “Ah,” Harry nodded. “Of course.”

     “Well,” Liam bounced nervously, “I must be off. There’s a lot of knight-work to do. A great deal of kingdom to defend. Have a pleasant evening, My Liege.”

     Liam bowed deeply and shuffled past him, glancing back every few feet.

     Harry watched him suspiciously until finally Liam ran out of view. He turned back to Zayn’s door and knocked. Harry heard the very sudden clatter of objects being knocked into before Zayn, looking starkly unflustered, answered.

     “Prince Harry,” Zayn smoothed his hair. “How can I help you?”

     “I was wondering if I could perhaps borrow some clothes?”

     “Oh.”

     “May I come in?” Harry asked expectantly.

     “Of course,” Zayn said. “One moment please, Highness.”

     Zayn closed the door again. Harry heard all manner of object being thrown about, drawers slamming, and the distinct sound of metal sliding across stone before Zayn threw the door back open and bowed Harry inside. The usual amount of fabric and leather was scattered in a methodical chaos around Zayn’s worktable, but while the room usually felt like a singularly and particularly occupied space, there was a sense of disruption on every surface. 

     “What exactly are you looking for, Highness?” Zayn pulled open his closet of extraneous garments. 

     “I need common clothes, actually.” Harry turned around, trying to find any source of the scattered feeling hovering around Zayn. 

     “Common clothes?”

     “Nothing that will draw attention to me.”

     Zayn turned back to the stacks of fabric, looking for more neutral tones. 

     “Are, em, are those Liam’s shoes?” Harry asked. “By your bed there.”

     Zayn paused almost imperceptibly. “I’m mending them.”

     “When I saw Liam in the hall, he said it was his coat you were mending. How odd.”

     Zayn stood up, trousers folded over his arm. “I'm mending both. Care to tell me why you need common clothes at such short notice?”

     “No reason,” Harry conceded.

     Zayn set him up with a plain white shirt and a brown jerkin and trousers, both lined with a pale pink that Harry quite enjoyed. He had proper plain shoes for the event, but at his request, Zayn gave him pink and cream striped stockings to keep the ensemble from being all too drab. 

     Harry climbed the stairs back up to his chambers, half hoping to see Louis, half not, leaning into the suspense until tomorrow. For how often Louis followed him around, being alone seemed more stifling than it ever had. Just weeks before he would have killed for peace and quiet, but now he just wanted it to be dawn already.

 

     When Harry pulled himself up out of bed in the pale dawn light, he could feel the biting cold left over from winter and the sleep aching in his skin, but remembering why he had awoken so early made his heart skip a beat. Pulling on his borrowed clothes and trying to keep his door from creaking, he padded down the flights of stairs. He wove through the dew-wet grass, the thick morning fog clinging to his hair and weighing it down. As he came closer the stables solidified, no longer clouded by mist, and he could see a ghostly figure standing in wait.

     “My Good Jester,” Harry greeted, smiling shyly.

     Louis turned, his face lighting up through the fog.

     “Sweet Harold,” he grinned, a look of relief passing over his face. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

     “I promised, didn’t I?” Harry told him. “We made a deal.”

     “That we did.”

     Harry looked over his shoulder suddenly. Louis noticed. 

     “Everything alright?” Louis asked.

     “Yes,” Harry frowned. “I’ve just realized I forgot to bring anything to give Geraldine. I usually always bring her food when I come out this way.”

     “Oh,” Louis said, patting at his pockets for a moment before producing a small pouch tied with a ribbon. “Here, I brought this for Her Ladyship.”

     Harry undid the uneven bow and pulled open the pouch to find it filled with Geraldine’s favorite grains.

     “Niall said she liked those,” Louis explained. “I thought she might enjoy a treat for Beltane.”

     “She’ll love it,” Harry smiled. His heart felt as if it might explode with fondness.

     Louis followed him to Geraldine’s roost, watching as Harry offered her the barley and a few gentle skritches between the feathers on her chest. Louis tipped his head to her politely and they left her to her grains.

     “I thought we might take my horse,” Louis told him as they walked down the line of stables. “People might notice if both our horses were missing at once.”

     “What’s wrong with Blake?” Harry asked, frowning a bit on behalf of his horse.

     “Nothing,” Louis laughed. “She’s smaller, is all. I don’t think we’d both fit. Phoenix was a war horse, she’s used to heavy armor. Plus I already put her bridle on while I was waiting for you.”

     Harry conceded, following Louis to Phoenix’s stall while still mumbling about what a good horse Blake was. He went quiet when he saw the beautiful destrier that Louis had lead him to.  He watched fondly as she hooked her head over Louis’ shoulder and mouthed at the pocket he’d been carrying barley in.

     “None of that,” Louis scolded her, pushing her away. “You’ll get plenty of your own when we get to town.”

     He turned back to Harry, gesturing invitingly to the stool set in the hay.

     “After you?”

     Harry stepped up, wobbling a bit on the wooden stool, and laid his hands on the horse’s back. She was bigger than his palfrey and he’d have to pull himself up higher to get a leg over her back. He’d paused only for a moment when he felt strong hands at his waist, pushing him up so that he could slide easily into position. He took a moment to steady himself and to find his bearings while Louis took hold of her reins and lead her out of the stable and into the crisp morning air. Just in the time that they’d been inside the sun had risen higher and begun to burn off some of the thick fog.

     Louis lead them to a small fence and handed Harry the reins, hooking his feet through the slats for leverage as he climbed up. Harry took hold of his arm and helped him onto the horse until he was settled snug at his back. Louis stiffened, as if suddenly realising the position he’d put them in, and inched back to create a bit of space between them.

     “Be careful,” Harry told him, looking over his shoulder. “You’ll fall off if you go much further.”

     “I,” Louis sputtered, nearly slipping, “I’d hate for my intentions to come off as nefarious, My Prince. I’m afraid I didn’t think this through quite enough.”

     “Nonsense,” Harry said, shifting as far forward as he could. “You’ll need to hold on though − for balance.”

     “Of course,” Louis muttered, moving until there was only a breath of space between them and gingerly looping his arms around his torso.

     They rode in silence for a while, listening to the birds chirping around them and the clip clop of Phoenix’s hooves. Harry couldn’t help but to lean into the warmth at his back, enjoying the feeling of Louis’ arms around him. He always felt a sort of jittery nervousness when Louis touched him, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He had gone so long surviving only on fleeting brushes of hands that so much contact felt foreign. Louis was always placing a hand at his back or squeezing his arms and the more reasonable side of him wanted to tense up each time and pull away, thinking only of self-preservation and royal duty. But the less reasonable side of him always won out, too distracted by how maddeningly  _ good _ Louis’ hands always felt, preening under any bit of attention. He leaned back further, belatedly finding Louis’ arms more snug around his waist, and relaxed into his embrace. 

     “I went to Zayn’s room last night,” Harry said when the sun was halfway to the center of the sky. “I ran into Liam, funnily enough.”

     “Oh?” Louis snorted. Harry could feel the exhale ruffle the back of his hair. It made him shiver. “Did he forget his penis there?”

     Harry made an embarrassing sort of a choked laughing sound and quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth.

     “Do you think they’re sleeping together?” he asked.

     “I don’t think there’s much sleeping going on, if there  _ is _ something between them,” Louis told him. “Liam’s been acting even more oddly than he usually does, and Zayn has been ignoring him completely when I see them both.”

     “There’s definitely something,” Harry agreed.

     “I think there’s something between our horses as well,” Louis said, a smile in his voice.

     “Is there?”

     “Haven’t you noticed? Whenever they’re out in the pasture they’re never more than a few feet apart. I think it’s love.”

     “Well, Phoenix has good taste,” Harry told him. “Blake is the best horse in the kingdom.”

     “I’m sure she is,” Louis grinned. “They’re very sweet together. Always swatting flies for each other, cuddling up in the grass.”

     “That’s lovely,” Harry smiled. He reached down to pet Phoenix’s neck, tacky with sweat, and thanked her for being kind to his horse.

     They reached the village when the sun was nearing its peak, both of them pink from the ride and glistening as they slid to the ground on shaky legs. Harry circled around to kiss the horse on her bristled velveteen nose and scratched at the coarse hair on her jaw. Louis tied her rope to a tree in the shade and laid out a bucket of water and a spread of vegetable scraps for her. He pat her on the back and took Harry’s hand in his own, pulling him towards the main square where the festival was held.

     Already the square was filled with people, the whole place lined with carts selling flowers and foods and trinkets as a large band played cheerful music in the center. Colorful banners were strung from the tops of every building and each villager was decked out in their best clothes and enveloped with wildflowers. It was like walking into a wild swirling garden as the people danced through the square, moving fluidly as they wove in and out of one another. Harry and Louis were quickly swallowed by the crowd, kept together only by the tight hold of their hands.

     Harry let Louis steer him as they wove through people, too overwhelmed by the sights and smells and sounds all around him to navigate. He just squeezed his fingers tighter around Louis’ and looked around in wonder. It had been so long since he had been in the village and even then he’d always been closely watched, never straying far from his mother’s side. He’d never been caught in the crowd as they were, made into an anonymous little blip in a sea of people. It was strange to walk through a crowd and feel people brush against him, nearly knocking him over with every step, rather than to part around him as people stopped to bow their heads. Instead he was pushed and shoved while his toes were stepped on and his shoulders were used as a steadying support. It was overwhelming to be suddenly touched by so many hands and arms and hips and knees and feet after so long with only the briefest of polite touches done in formality. The only constant was Louis’ hand in his and the reassuring grin he sent him every few feet.

     By the time they reached the other end of the square Harry was out of breath from the overstimulation of it all.

     “Are you okay?” Louis shouted over the noise, pulling him between two food stalls where they’d be safe from the crowd.

     “Yeah,” Harry nodded, reveling in the soothing touch of Louis’ hands on his upper arms. “It’s just− It’s a lot. Good though. I, um, I haven’t been around so many people before.”

     “That’s okay,” Louis smiled, rubbing his thumbs over the creases of Harry’s elbows. “We could get some food if you’d like? You must be hungry from the ride. They’ve got the best bannock in the kingdom here.”

     Gently, he tugged Harry to a stand in the corner and bought a loaf of thick circular bread. When Harry tried to offer a few coins Louis pushed away his hands and tucked the bread under his arm. He pulled Harry from stand to stand until they were laden down with rosemary pork and spring cabbage and sweet honey-wine. Together they sat on a low stone wall and looked out on the crowd as they ate. Louis ripped off pieces of the bread and handed them to Harry who was surprised to find it filled with raisins and nuts.

     As Harry tipped back his mug of mead to take the last sip a young girl from the crowd broke free and took Harry’s hand in her own.

     “Would you like to dance?” she grinned invitingly.

     Harry looked between her and Louis with wide eyes.

     The girl laughed.

     “You can come right back to your boy when we’re done.”

     Louis gave him another encouraging smile and Harry allowed himself to be pulled into a dance. By the time he glanced back Louis had already been snatched up by a kind looking older woman with graying hair. He kept watching Harry out of the corner of his eye though so Harry let the girl pull him deeper into the crowd.

     It had been a very long time since he’d danced and then it had always been quite formal. He and Gemma had been given dancing lessons since they could walk, always prepared for a ball in court, but this dancing was all different. It was fast and loose and wild and Harry kept tripping over his feet.

     “Relax,” his dancing partner told him with a kind smile. “Just follow the music.”

     The music in question was loud and upbeat and swirling and it made his heart feel like it might burst out of his chest with the pounding beat of it. As they whirled through the other dancers he began to find his footing, letting the girl spin him and push him out and in as she swung their arms between them. On the next spin she let go of his hand and he fumbled for a moment before another pair of hands caught his. Suddenly he was dancing with a smiling elderly woman in a silk kerchief who pulled him into a much wilder jig than the first girl. Harry laughed as he did his best to keep up and when he looked up he caught Louis’ eyes over her shoulder. He was now dancing with Harry’s first partner and they both seemed to be laughing at something as they watched him. Harry almost didn’t notice when he was spun out again and landed with a shaggy-haired boy a bit younger than him. They skipped through the square as the fiddles played faster and faster, the boy’s hand steady on his waist. Across the crowd Louis was dancing with a girl of five or six, swinging her around madly while she screamed with laughter.

     “Is he yours?” the boy asked, tipping his head towards Louis who had swung the girl up onto his shoulders.

     “He might be,” Harry smiled, a giddy feeling taking over his chest.

     “This is a good place to find out,” the boy told him, spinning him into his next partner, a muscular woman with short choppy hair who pulled him into her arms and whisked him over the cobblestones with a full bodied laugh.

     Harry tilted his head up to soak in the sun which was filtering down through wispy cottony clouds. He matched the wide smile of his dance partner as they twirled through the square. As the music swelled she tightened her grip on his waist and lifted him up as she spun and a stream of laughter bubbled out of him. He was still laughing when she set him back down, dizzy from all of the spinning, and he nearly stumbled to the ground when she dropped his hands. He braced himself to hit the stones below but instead he collided with a soft yet solid torso, steadying hands gripping his arms to hold him up. When he raised his eyes he found the blue of Louis’, crinkled up in a wide smile.

     The crowd kept moving around them so Louis took Harry’s right hand in his left and pulled him along with a warm hand at the small of his back. Together they flolicked in crazy swirling patterns, twisting and twirling as they danced around the band.

     When the song ended the crowd erupted into cheers, clapping their hands and stomping their feet until the man behind the big bass drum counted in the next one. As people coupled up for the next dance Harry and Louis slinked off to the side, linked hands swinging between them as they walked. Together they strolled through the village, peaking into shop windows and stopping to pet a stray cat lounging on the steps of one house.

     By the time they circled back the sun was getting low in the sky and the traditional music for the maypole dance was being played. Harry ran forward, pulling Louis along behind him, and gazed in wonder at the large flower-topped pole, its long shining ribbons billowing lightly in the breeze.

     “Go on, Love,” Louis nudged him, nodding towards the lads and lasses who were all picking up their ribbons. “There’s still a few left.”

     “Only if you join me.”

     Louis sighed as if it were some arduous thing but laughed all the same and let Harry pull him along to find their ribbons. Louis picked up a sky blue ribbon while Harry took a bright green for himself. On the other side of the pole Harry saw a woman with long black hair settling a crown of flowers onto the head of the muscular woman he’d danced with in the square. She gave her a quick kiss before they both took hold of their ribbons.

     Once everyone had settled into place with their ribbons in hand someone signaled for them to begin. They wove in and out of each other in two rows and Harry smiled at the girl and boy he’d danced with before as he crossed their paths. When he came to Louis the other boy stuck out his tongue before lifting his arm for Harry to duck under. They sang together as they danced, braiding the ribbons down the pole and wrapping it in a rainbow of silk. As they got further down they had to duck lower to get around each other and they began to giggle as they circled the pole. Before long they’d covered all of the maypole that they could and the crowd around them cheered.

     “C’mon,” Louis said softly, coming up behind Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist. “There’s one thing left to do.”

     He lead him away from the festivities, weaving through the buildings and past where he’d tied Phoenix before. They ducked through trees and climbed over an old wooden fence before finally breaking out into a vast open field of flowers. Harry gasped as he looked out over the seemingly endless sea of wildflowers, the air turned to liquid gold by the setting sun.

     “It’s beautiful,” he said, voice filled with awe.

     Louis only smiled, pulling him out into the thick of it so that the flowers brushed against their knees as they walked. They stepped through clouds of poppies and tulips and edelweiss, bluebells and sunflowers and foxgloves. The air around them was thick with the smell of flowers, seeming only to intensify as they walked.

     When they could scarcely see the trees they’d come through Louis stopped and sat down in the thick of it, nearly swallowed up by the blooms. Harry sat beside him and began to pull flowers into his lap. Louis joined him, making a small pile of his own.

     “It’s really lovely,” Harry hummed as he twirled a stock of Queen Anne’s lace between his fingers. “The gardens at the palace are beautiful, but you can’t create something like this artificially. This sort of thing only happens when you let nature do it.”

     “That’s true,” Louis nodded. “Did you enjoy yourself? At the festival?”

     “It was wonderful,” Harry smiled. “I’d never gotten to be a part of it like that. It was everything I’d always hoped it would be.”

     “I’m glad,” Louis grinned, looking down at the flowers in his lap before glancing back up. “Do you think − ? Would it be okay if I...?”

     He held up a violet blossom and motioned towards Harry’s head.

     “Of course,” Harry told him, a sort of nervous excitement bursting through him as Louis came to sit behind him, combing through his hair with gentle fingers. He felt Louis separating his hair into sections before braiding it as he wove flowers into the plaits. Harry’s eyes slid shut in contentment as Louis’ nimble fingers worked through his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. He leaned into the touch, feeling the heat of Louis’ body behind him as the sun sunk lower and a cool breeze began to blow.

     Harry felt something brush lightly across his face and opened his eyes to find a pale blue butterfly resting on the tip of his nose.

     He blinked in surprise and the butterfly moved on to a nearby thatch of lavender.

     “She thought you were a flower,” Louis laughed, pulling on a curl near Harry’s ear. “I’ll have to agree with her there.”

     “I’m not a flower,” Harry said, smiling despite himself.

     “Well, you smell like one. You’re very gentle about things, and I think you’re quite lovely,” Louis said. “So it's an understandable mistake, at any rate.” 

     Louis had slowly shifted towards Harry’s front and when Harry looked up at him he was glowing in the fading light, his eyelashes lit up gold where they fanned across his cheeks. Even the scruff on his chin seemed to shimmer with strands of bronze and his blue eyes were lit up like stained glass.

     It was strange to hear Louis say something that previously would have been some teasing jest routine, now said like some fanciful thought he had simply let slip from his mouth.

     “You think I’m lovely?” Harry asked, almost without thinking. 

     “Is it not obvious?” Louis was threading extraneous smaller flowers through the hair by Harry’s ears, their faces close. Harry liked the pensive look Louis had when deciding flower placement. He did it so carefully, like every little movement held weight.

     “I think you’re lovely, too,” Harry murmured, as if in danger of being overheard by eavesdropping butterflies. 

     Louis smiled, still sorting out flowers, not quite looking at Harry. 

     “Thank you, Sweet Princess.”

     “Harry is fine. We aren't in the castle.”

     Louis stopped, two tiny blooms of scarlet pimpernel pinched between his forefinger and thumb. 

     “Thank you, Harry.” 

     Harry was close enough to Louis to feel his breath disturb the air. What Harry had said seemed to hold more meaning than he could have predicted − _they were not at the castle._ They were far away from any prying eyes or responsibilities or titles. Harry wasn’t a prince in that sun-soaked golden field of flowers, and Louis wasn’t a jester. They were just lovely figures at sunset with a breath of space between them.

     Louis’ eyes flicked briefly down to Harry’s lips, then back up.

     It was so simple a question with no simple answer.

     Harry pushed forward slightly on shaking hands, inching closer until he’d closed the gap between them. He brushed a kiss to Louis’ lips, chaste and gentle. He let out a small gasp at the touch, as if he had surprised himself with his old boldness. Before he could apologise or pull away Louis crashed their lips together fully, wrapping his arms around him and tipping forward until he was pressing Harry down into the flowers. He sucked greedily at Harry’s full lips, pulling out sighs and gasps that made him dizzy. Harry pushed up into him, parting his lips and offering himself without any sense of grace, only reckless abandon. One kiss lasted a thousand years as Harry twisted his fingers into Louis’ hair and Louis held Harry’s waist.

     When the skies had gone dark above them and they were both long out of breath Louis began to pull away, stopped by Harry’s hand on the back of his neck, desperate for another blissful few seconds before they finally parted. Louis was breathing heavily and Harry laughed at him. It seemed the only way to express the lightness he felt just then.

     “Are you laughing at me?” Louis panted. 

     “Yes,” Harry nodded, trying and failing to muffle his giggles. 

     “I didn’t even do anything.” Louis looked so scattered. 

     “Oh yes you did.”

     “What?”

     “You kissed me.”

     “No,” Louis sat back, his smile big and loose and open, “I think you’ll find that  _ you _ kissed  _ me. _ ”

     “Only because you were being so lovely,” Harry smiled quietly. 

     Louis looked at a loss, still smiling despite himself. 

     “You have nothing to say to that? You always have something to say,” Harry teased. 

     Louis laughed a little as well. The two smiled at each other a bit longer in the faded light, cautiously, but closer than ever before. 

     “It’s gotten dark,” Louis said. “We should be heading back. I’d hate to get you into any trouble. We’ll have to sneak you back to your rooms at this rate either way.”

     “That’s fine,” Harry said, before kissing his way from Louis’ cheek to his mouth again, the two of them slowly laying back beneath the starless sky.

     Louis lifted himself back up on his elbows, struggling to detach his lips from Harry’s.

     “We really should be leaving,” Louis reminded him. “People will be wondering where you’ve been, and Phoenix has been tied up all day now.”

     Harry nodded, threading his fingers behind Louis’ head.

     “Of course,” he hummed, leaning up to lick over the seam of Louis’ lips. “That would be the reasonable thing to do.”

     He pulled Louis back down by the back of his neck, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as Louis melted against him.

     The sun that had left them as they first kissed found them again just as they finally reached the castle grounds. 


	8. Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of death, grief, and some internalized homophobia  
> (There's nothing super explicit or hardcore about it but just in case anyone is extra extra sensitive to any of that it's all in the second half of the chapter, after the letters)  
> <3 <3 <3

     The crash and clang of metal rang out across the lawns and echoed off of the castle walls as Harry and Liam sparred. Louis was perched on the top rung of a slightly slanted wooden fence, watching them.

     Harry was grasping the hilt of his sword and swinging it swiftly through the air with ease, despite the heavy weight of the metal. His skin was glowing in spite of the overcast sky and Louis felt as if he could watch him for hours without  ever getting bored. His usual neat doublets and gathered trunk hose had been replaced by padded breeches and a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows to reveal lean sinewy muscles that tensed and flexed with each arch of his sword.

     “You’ve got a wonderful stance there, Darling,” Louis called to Harry who kept his eyes locked on Liam. His posture was well practiced, his body leaning forward and his shoulders arched back as he circled around the ring. There was an obvious power to his body and a sharp calculating look in his eyes as he planned each movement. Even Liam, one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom, was sweating trying to counter each of his attacks. Louis couldn’t believe that there could be anyone in the kingdom who thought of the prince as weak, not when he stood so strong before him. There was grace in his every movement and a sureness that was so often buried beneath miles of self doubt. Louis felt a bit like a lovesick schoolgirl watching him.

     Their swords made a sharp clang each time they collided, shaking them both with the force of it. Harry was holding back, Louis was sure of it, always swinging a bit short and retreating after each attack. If it were a real fight it wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long. Harry was good, and even Louis who could scarcely lift a sword could see that. But still Louis doubted that Harry would ever enter into a real fight. The prince was much more likely to be mothering an injured bird or trying to mend a butterfly’s wings than to be picking fights. There was a tenderness to him that Louis had not seen in many others.

     “Oh that’s a beautiful lunge!” Louis smiled, swinging his legs against the fence. “ _ Quite  _ deep!”

     He could see Harry’s jaw tighten. He didn’t offer so much as a twitch of his lips, and Louis’ own smile faltered.

     “Our prince has some very clever hands,” Louis tried again. “Such dexterity! Such grace!”

     Harry only pursed his lips in annoyance, keeping his focus on Liam.

     Louis had never been very good at being ignored, and it was downright unbearable when he’d grown so used to Harry’s attention. It made him uneasy to see Harry tensing back up and he felt the obnoxious attention seeking child in him flare up.

     “What a nice grasp you’ve got on that hilt,” he called, overly loud enough that even he felt embarrassed. “Very firm!”

     Liam at least laughed, a nervous sort of half hearted chuckle, but Harry’s frown only deepened.

     Harry and Liam kept sparring and Louis kept watching, a sickly feeling of unease growing in his belly. By the time they were finished for the day they were both breathing heavily and their faces were flushed and shiny with perspiration. Louis slid from his perch on the fence and ran to follow Harry as he moved towards the armory.

     “I didn’t know you were so good with a sword,” Louis told him as they walked, Harry a quick step ahead of him. “All this time I’ve been offering to fight for you when you’re a million times better than I am. I should have known though, you’re better than me at everything.”

     Harry kept his eyes focused on the ground in front of him, walking stiffly to deposit his sword in its case. When he turned around he was almost nose-to-nose with Louis who had continued to follow him. Louis glanced down at Harry’s bottom lip where it was held harshly between his teeth and felt his expression soften.

     “Would you like to visit the stables with me?” Louis asked, brushing his fingers over the soft leather of Harry’s gloves. “I nicked some apples from the kitchen, I thought we might bring them to the horses. I’ve got some more barley for Lady Geraldine as well.”

     “I − ” Harry began, furrowing his brows and still chewing viciously at his lip. “I can’t.”

     “What are you talking about?” Louis asked, the hopeful smile leaving his face. “Of course you can. Or do you have some princely duty to attend to?”

     “I mean I shouldn’t,” Harry clarified, shaking his head. He moved around Louis, eyes trained on his feet, but Louis caught his hand before he reached the door.

     “Harry?” he asked, confusion filling his voice.

     “I’ve got to go,” Harry said, eyes pleading, and Louis dropped his hand.

     Harry was gone in a flash, only the faint scent of roses and an ache in Louis’ chest left as proof that he’d been there at all.

 

     Louis spent the day moping, wondering what he could have done wrong. He wandered through the palace, revisiting every knothole he’d previously found Harry in and hoping that he’d find him again, waiting for Louis just as he had been before with a well worn book or his latest piece of needlepoint in his lap. Instead he found nothing but dust and spare linens and old brooms. He didn’t know what could have happened in such a short time to make Harry retreat back from the sweet bubbly boy who had held him close and kissed him so thoroughly, stifling his giggles as they krept through the palace to his rooms and pressed a hard kiss to Louis’ mouth as they wished each other goodnight, even as the sun rose higher in the sky outside. Harry had been absent for all of the day after Beltane and Louis, who had woken late into the afternoon, had assumed that the prince was simply resting. He was awake now though, and he was avoiding Louis.

     In the village Louis had been overjoyed to see Harry so open, his smile brighter than Louis had ever seen it before. It was like a punch to the stomach to see it gone. Louis should have been used to it, he’d had this sad reserved Prince Harry every day for months before he’d ever seen him smile, but now that he’d seen it it was like the sun disappearing from the sky. The warmth that had filled Sommerstarr had disappeared and Louis felt lost without it.

     “What’s got you so down?” Zayn asked when Louis plunked down beside him in the servants dining room.

     “Nothing,” Louis grumbled, roughly tearing off a piece of his roll and dunking it into his stew.

     “It’s the prince, isn’t it,” Zayn said, setting aside the fabric he’d been stitching.

     Louis frowned, chewing on his bread.

     “I’m not an idiot,” Zayn told him. “It’s obvious that there’s something going on between you two. I don’t care, really, as long as he’s happy − which he has been, mostly. More than he used to be.”

     “Not anymore,” Louis muttered, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork. “I’ve fucked it up. He’s avoiding me again.”

     “He avoids everyone,” Zayn waved him off. “What happened this time?”

     Louis sighed, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

     “A lot.”

     “Start at the beginning then.”

     So Louis did. He told Zayn in a hushed voice about his growing feelings for Harry until the table emptied around them and finally he got to Beltane, cheeks reddening as he remembered their kiss. Kisses, really.

     “And then, uh, and then I kissed him,” he blushed, smiling down at the long cold stew before him. “Or he kissed me, I guess. We kissed though, and it was lovely. Really lovely, but now he won’t talk to me. It’s like none of it ever happened, but  _ worse _ because I remember what it’s like to kiss him and I know he remembers what it’s like to kiss me.”

     “Look,” Zayn said, looping another stitch in the sewing he’d continued while he listened to Louis, “Harry, he− He’s got a lot of ideas about what he can and can’t do. He overthinks things until he’s driven himself mad, and he doesn’t talk about any of it. I only know because I’ve spent the past ten years studying his face. He didn’t used to be like this, he used to be so loud and wild, and people talked but he never seemed to listen. Then the queen passed and everything changed. But people seem to forget that he was changing even before she passed, before she got sick even. He was starting to dim, but her death just extinguished him. He’s never been the same, but lately... There’s almost a glow about him again. He’s not as dark as he was. It’s like he’s reflecting light, like he used to be the sun but now he’s the moon. It’s good though, for a long time he was like a void.”

     Louis sat in silence, trying to make sense of everything Zayn had said.

     “He needs someone like you,” Zayn told him. “He needs someone who makes him forget to think. You can’t give up on him.”

     “I wasn’t going to  _ give up _ on him,” Louis scoffed. “Did you really think I’d give up after − ”

     “Zayn!” Niall shouted, barreling into the room and knocking over a row of chairs in his haste. “Zayn I need you to let me deliver another package to Princess Gemma.”

     “Niall,” Zayn frowned, watching as the squire collapsed into a chair across from them. “I’ve already given you three packages for her.”

     “But she’s so pretty,” Niall whined. “And she smells so good. I just saw her and she was wearing this  _ dress _ and it was so pretty! I mean it looked just like all her other dresses, but  _ she’s _ just so pretty so everything she wears is pretty and she called me ‘ _ Squiall’  _ − she said it’s a shortened version of Squire Niall, do you think I should ask everyone to call me that? She’s so smart − and I was trying to tell her how pretty she looked but Harry kept butting in to ask where Tommo was and by the time he finally left someone else came and pulled her away and I really need − ”

     “Harry was asking about me?” Louis demanded, standing up.

     “What?” Niall frowned, looking up at him. “Yeah but  _ Princess Gemma _ − ”

     “Where is he, Niall?”

     “I told him to check your room,” Niall said before turning back to Zayn and berrading him with another long breathless stream of nonsense about the princess.

     Louis sprinted out of the room, darting around the pile of chairs Niall had knocked over, and rushed towards his room. When he found the hallway empty he tore open the door, breathing hard and startling Harry who was sitting delicately on the edge of Louis’ bed, holding one of his bell-spangled hats in his lap. Louis wanted to kiss him, desperately, but he knew that it wasn’t the time.

     “Harry,” he breathed, stepping closer to the bed. “You’re here.”

     “I am,” Harry nodded, fingers trembling where they fiddled with the brass bells on the hat. “I, um, I’m sorry. About earlier. I was, er, quite rude.”

     “Never,” Louis shook his head, inching closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever been less than polite in your life.”

     Harry took one side of his lip between his teeth again, staring hard somewhere just past Louis’ left hip.

     “It’s rude to hide from people.”

     “I like finding you,” Louis told him, getting closer. Harry’s lip twitched and his eyebrows furrowed in what Louis had come to think of as his almost-smile. “Where do you go to all the time anyway? When I can’t find you?”

     Harry kept chewing his lip and Louis opened his mouth, assuming that he wasn’t going to answer.

     “I could show you?”

     Louis froze, breath caught in his throat, and nodded.

     Harry stood, straightening out his dove gray trunk-hose before remembering the jester hat in his hand and setting it back down on the bed. Louis held the door open for him and followed him back to the main part of the castle, keeping his mouth shut for fear that Harry would change his mind before they reached their destination. He followed him down narrow corridors and up long winding flights of stairs until finally they came to a trap door in the low stone ceiling.

     “It’s, um, it’s messy,” Harry told him, voice shaking a bit as he stood just under the trap door.

     “I love messy.”

     “It’s − ” Harry clenched his fists, taking a deep breath, and nodded to himself. “Alright.”

     He pushed open the door and climbed the rickety ladder beside it, disappearing from Louis’ view. Louis took hold of the ladder and lifted himself up into a large, stone-walled room, the whole thing perfectly round and came to a steep point at the very top of the high ceiling. There was a large arched window facing the duck pond, gauzy white curtains filtering the last few rays of the setting sun.

     Louis had thought that the walls must be painted with an ornate pattern of grayish roses, but as Harry began to light the array of dripping candles all around the room he saw that they were not painted but dried. Up as far as anyone could reach, and sometimes even further, rows and rows of dried roses were covering the walls like a thick textured wallpaper. As the faded petals flickered in the candlelight Louis couldn’t help but feel as though he’d been transported to some other world.

     “Is this the tower?” Louis asked, walking dazedly to the center of the room. “On the eastern side of the castle?”  He looked over to see Harry still lighting the cascading series of candles to combat the fading sunlight. He did it so particularly but so casually. He must have done it a thousand times before. 

     “It is,” Harry replied, cupping his hand gingerly around a struggling flame. 

     If Harry’s chamber was so devoid of personality, this must be the hideaway for his real affects − things that actually meant something to him. On one wall of it was a legless and tattered but beautifully embroidered couch with so many cushions and blankets they spilled onto the floor around it. All were mismatched and worn, but looked endlessly comfortable. A grand piano took up a good deal more of the space, and Lous wondered how in the hell it could have gotten up there. A few tiny bowls of seeds were balanced on it, along with some telltale feathers, evidence that Harry was often accompanied by Lady Geraldine. An old beaten desk sat scattered with papers and books and letters and inkwells. A single chair was painted a faded yellow. Carpets overlapped on the ground, dust curling in the last bits of sunlight, and all above his head more dried roses in varying states of fadedness hung on long criss-crossing lines, making the whole place seem almost ethereal by nature. But not all were roses. Louis noticed then that just above the piano there was a neat bundle of barely wilted wildflowers.

     Louis turned in a slow circle to take it all in. 

     “Is  _ this _ where you hide?” Louis barely spoke above a whisper so as not to break whatever spell hung in the air. “This is beautiful Harry.”

     “You don’t have to say that,” Harry set his tinderbox back down on the ancient table. “It’s a complete disaster.”

     “I love it.” 

     Harry smiled, quietly. 

     Louis had so many questions. 

     “Where’d all the pillows come from?”

     “I sneak them up here when they're about to be switched out if I like them.”

     “What about the couch?”

     “That’s been here since before I was born.”

     “How’d you get a piano up here?”

     “Help,” Harry shrugged.

     “What are all the letters?”

     Harry smiled, excited to explain. Louis marveled that he had spent so much time creating this little world. He supposed Harry had never before had the opportunity to show it off, the only guide in a small slice of faerieland. 

     “The ones tied in pink ribbon are from my mother to me,” he said, pointing. “These ones here are Gemma’s, she asked me to keep them up here for her.”

     “Gemma knows about this place?”

     “She used to come up here, too,” Harry explained. “Now she has queenly things to do.” He turned back to the table. “These are some of my parents’ old love letters. You know my father brought my mum a bouquet of roses every day of their courtship, and a single rose every day for the first year they were married? She saved them all, and finally she made him stop because she was running out of room.” Louis watched him with an expression of awe as he moved to the next pile of parchment. “These are all from Zayn while I was in Paris, I brought them back. These are the letters I wrote to Geraldine when I was eight.”

     “What's that one?” Louis pointed at a neatly folded letter, set away from the others, a pressed flower tied to the top.

     Harry paused, his smile falling.

     “Nothing,” he said, straightening the stack of old yellowed parchment he’d said housed his parents’ love letters. “They’re all just letters.”

     “I think it’s beautiful,” Louis told him, reaching out to brush his fingers over Harry’s elbow. Harry stiffened for a moment before leaning into his touch.

     “It used to be my mother’s,” he said softly. “All of this. This was her special place. Not even my father has ever stepped inside. She said it was good to have a place for yourself, and he understood that. When Gemma and I were children she told us that we could use her tower, but only if we were careful with it. We had to respect her space, we couldn’t break anything − not that she’d have been so mad if we had. She wasn’t that sort of person. She just wanted us to be gentle, to understand that it was special.”

     “It is special,” Louis agreed, squeezing Harry’s arm reassuringly. “Anyone could see that.”

     “Gemma always thought it was too stuffy, she didn’t like that she couldn’t run around in here. She always prefered our father’s study. It’s no wonder she’s the one taking the throne, she’s always been a natural at it. But I always liked it here. I’d sit there for hours just watching my mother write letters or work on her embroidery, and she’d let me. I think it was the only time I wasn’t shouting, trying to get everyone’s attention on me. Because I didn’t need it here. It was enough just to be let in.”

     He looked around, as if imagining the room through Louis’ eyes. 

     “It's always been my favorite place.”

     “I can see why.”

     Louis smiled softly at Harry who seemed just on the edge of returning it before he glanced back at the desk and his face fell. 

     “I don't think we should talk anymore,” Harry said, stepping away from Louis’ touch as if it had suddenly turned scalding. “Not outside of court. It isn't proper.”

     “Don't do that,” Louis said, catching his hand again. “You didn't bring me to your secret place just to throw me out. That's not why you brought me here.”

     “I don't  _ know _ why I brought you here,” Harry said, a sort of frantic look in his eyes as he looked everywhere except at Louis. He was like an injured deer, wanting to run without knowing if running would be better or worse. “I don't know why I've done anything lately.”

     “You do,” Louis whispered, holding Harry's hand tight between both of his own. “Even if you don't want to admit it. Even if it scares you.”

     “I,” Harry choked, swallowing hard. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, finally meeting Louis’ own. He looked at him as if Louis might hold the answers to every question in the world, if only he could ask them. “I don't want to hide.”

     “Then let me find you.”

     He pulled Harry in, the prince collapsing against Louis’ chest and clutching his shoulders. Louis wrapped his arms securely around him, running warm steady hands over his back as he whispered soothing words in his ear. Harry’s chest rattled with unsteady breaths, his fingers tangling in Louis’ shirt and holding tight enough to turn his knuckles a stark white. Louis just held him, brushing his lips over the shell of Harry’s ear and running his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. Slowly, when Harry's shaking had calmed to a light tremble, Louis moved them both to the couch and sunk down into the cushions with Harry’s legs draped over his own, his head tucked into Louis’ shoulder. Louis could feel the wetness of tears on his neck and held Harry tighter. He rubbed his fingers over the soft velvet of Harry's doublet, tracing the seams and the swirling embroidery. 

     “You're alright,” Louis whispered, lips pressed to Harry's temple. 

     “I’m sorry,” Harry pressed the heel of his palm to each of his eyes, voice still unsteady. “I shouldn’t have drug you up here just to cry on your shoulder.”

     “Please don’t apologise,” Louis said softly. 

     “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here, with me,” Harry sat up a little, still leaning against Louis slightly, contact not broken. 

     “I want to be here. With you.”

     “Thank you,” Harry murmured, after a pause. 

     “My pleasure.”

     Harry took a deep breath. “The, er, the letter you asked me about. It’s from a boy I knew a long time ago. Bartholomew.”

     Louis looked at Harry, leaning on his shoulder, expectant, but not pressuring. 

     “We were, um, courting, I guess,” Harry said more quietly. “In secret.”

     “That sounds nice.”

     “It was.”

     “What happened?” Louis asked as gently as possible.

     “He left.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “It’s not your fault,” Harry sniffed. “It’s mine. I shouldn’t have been so obvious, spending time with him like that.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “He left me a letter saying we’d been found out, that they were sending him away. He couldn’t even say goodbye.”

     “Was that the letter on the table?” Louis asked gently.

     “No,” Harry shook his head. “I burned all of his letters. That one was his wedding invitation.”

     “That’s awful.” Louis felt a pang of sympathy for the boy at his side. 

     “Now he’s married to this beautiful girl in Spain. They’re expecting a baby this fall.”

     “I’m so sorry, Harry,” Louis said again, imagining how difficult it must be for Harry to watch his ex-lover’s life flourish from afar.

     “That’s alright,” Harry sighed, nestling closer. “He’s happy now.”

     “Still.” Louis carded his fingers through Harry’s hair. 

     “I wish I could do that, just pick a girl. It should be so simple but it’s  _ not _ . My father’s been patient but at some point he’ll get tired of it all and I’ll just disappoint him. I keep disappointing people.”

     “You’ve never disappointed me,” Louis promised, raising Harry’s hand and brushing his lips across his knuckles.

     “Just give it time,” Harry muttered ruefully. “I can’t even make my mum proud.”

     “How could you say that?” Louis asked, trying to catch Harry’s eyes but finding them locked steadily on his knees where they were still hooked over Louis’. “If there’s one thing I know it’s that your mum loves you. She couldn’t possibly be anything less than thrilled watching you.”

     “You never even met her,” Harry shook his head, his voice thick. “I was there. When she died. She’d been sick for so long, but I still never believed it’d really happen. I must have been the only person in the kingdom who still really thought she’d get better. Even she knew it wouldn’t happen. I just kept visiting her, even when the physicians told me I shouldn’t, and I held her hand, even when she couldn’t hold mine back, and I’d talk to her. All day I’d sit and talk and she couldn’t always respond but I didn’t mind. She was my  _ mum _ . I thought she was invincible, you know?”

     “I do,” Louis nodded.

     “But then one day she was just gone, and I couldn’t get her back. It might have been easier if I’d treated her like she was dying before it happened, like Gemma and our father did, but I couldn’t do that. I wanted her to get better and I thought that maybe if I pretended that she would then it would happen. But she didn’t and now there’s so much that I should have said that I didn’t. I didn’t even say goodbye, not properly. I couldn’t bear to say it.”

     “She knows that you love her,” Louis promised, holding Harry’s hand tightly in one of his own, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheek with his free hand. “That’s what matters. I never really knew my dad, you know, he died in battle when I was just a kid. But when my mum died I felt so lost. Without her I was just alone with my sisters and I had to take care of them and make sure they were okay and it was hard but I had to keep going for their sakes. Every time I felt like everything was falling apart though, I’d think of her and get this rush of strength like she was there with me, like she knew what I needed and wanted to help. I think that maybe they aren’t truly gone. Maybe they’re watching over us right now.”

     “But what if I don’t want her to know?” Harry asked, finally meeting Louis’ gaze with red watery eyes. “Do you know what the last thing she ever said to me was?”

     “What?” Louis whispered, his eyes big and searching.

     “She said she wanted me to be happy. To find someone who makes me happy. A nice girl to settle down with. A wife and children, wouldn’t that be nice?”

     Harry smiled ruefully.

     “It’s everything I’m supposed to want but just the thought of it makes me feel sick. I’m a sorry excuse for a prince. Much more of a disgrace, if I’m honest.”

     “You’re still a prince.” Louis told him fiercely. “You’re still  _ my  _ prince.”

     Harry sat up, then slumped again. He raised a hand, then let it drop. “I− Of course I’m a prince. But I’ll never be the prince I’m supposed to be. Never brave enough or dashing enough or princely enough. I can’t be so put together like Gemma. Everyone thinks I’m just an eccentric layabout. My father's ashamed of me, I know he is. He would never say it. Just like my mother. She never said − ” He stopped himself briefly. “She wanted me to get married and settle down. That was all. And I can’t even do that. I can’t do anything I’m supposed to.”

     “You’re brave, Harry,” Louis promised, pressing their foreheads together. “All these bastards in court, you could stack them all one on top of the other and they’d never measure up to you. You need to stop hiding yourself away when there’s not a single thing wrong with you. How could there ever be anything wrong with love?”

     Harry was crying again, silent tears slipping from his eyes like ink spilling from a bottle.

     “And your mother,” Louis added, brushing away Harry’s tears with gentle fingers. “I know I never met her, but I’ve been in this castle for quite a while now and I’ve heard quite a lot of stories. I’ve heard stories about the kind-hearted king and the fearless princess and about the loveliest prince you could ever hope to meet, and I’ve heard all about the queen. You know I’ve never heard a single unkind word spoken about her? And that really means something in a court that likes to talk this much. I’ve heard all about the charities she organised and the happiness that she spread throughout the kingdom, and most of all I’ve heard about the incredible love she held in her heart, nearly all of it just for you. I don’t believe for one second that she could find a single flaw in you, Harry, not if she looked for a million years.”

     Harry had closed his eyes, overwhelmed by it all, and Louis placed a soft kiss against Harry’s left eyelid, tasting the salt of his tears.

     “She wanted you to be happy,” Louis reminded him, kissing his other eye and feeling his lashes flutter beneath his lips. “It doesn’t matter what that means for you. All mums want their kids to be happy. There’s no use making yourself miserable about it.”

     “I want it,” Harry admitted, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard. “I want it so badly, but I  _ can’t _ .”

     “What?” Louis asked, kissing the crease between his brows and watching it unfurrow slightly. “What is it you want? I swear, you can have it.”

     “To be happy,” he whispered, catching the hem of Louis’ shirt in his fist. “To make her proud. To have  _ you. _ ”

     “It’s yours,” Louis offered earnestly. “All of it. You’ve just got to take it.”

     “I’ve thought about it a lot,” Harry finally met his eyes, wiping away the last of his tears. “I’m just not sure.”

     Louis knew he couldn’t expect to change Harry’s mind just like that, and he didn't actually know for himself the king or Gemma’s thoughts, but he did know how he felt, and he wanted Harry to know that, too.

     “Just try,” Louis pleaded. “Your mum loves you, I know it, and − ” he paused, tracing Harry’s jaw with his thumb. “And  _ I _ love you.”

     Harry’s lips parted as he sucked in a breath.

     “Do you mean it?”

     “I told you, I never lie,” Louis smiled softly. “I’ve been meaning to ask − all jests and jokes aside − would you ever allow me to court you? You can think about it, if you’d like. I don’t mind waiting. I’m only a jester, and you a prince, but I would treat you well. As well as I can. And I’d make up for the rest by loving you. I’m no nobleman, no shining knight, but I could make you happy, Princeling. I’d like to win your heart for real this time. Would you allow me such a privilege?”

     “There’s no need to win my heart,” Harry promised him, pressing a sweet kiss to Louis’ lips, his tears pooling in the scruff on Louis’ cheeks. “It’s already yours.”


	9. Harry

     The girl in front of Harry hadn’t stopped speaking since they’d been introduced, likely straining her voice as she spoke over the music and all of the other guests at the ball. Harry hadn’t even caught her name as it had been jumbled in with a thousand other words that all came out in a quick breathless stream. Harry hated being talked at, and usually this would be the time that he’d start to shut down, going silent and turning in on himself and doing his best to imagine himself back in his tower, away from it all. Instead, there was a small amused smile on his face and a mischievous sort of twinkle in his eye because just beyond the girl’s shoulder none other than Tommo the Jester was plucking his lute. Harry watched as Louis’ eyes slowly slid shut, his neck going limp until his chin was resting against his chest, body swaying, before snapping himself back up and looking around as if in confusion. He continued the routine without ever missing a beat in the music and the other musicians behind him only rolled their eyes, used to his antics.

     “Prince Harry,” smiled Daniel, one of the men on his father’s Privy Council. “I’d like you to meet Lady Annabelle, the Baroness of Fernweh.”

     “It’s a pleasure, Your Highness.” She curtsied and offered her hand. As Harry bent his head to kiss it he saw Louis over her shoulder, mirroring him and kissing his lute with an exaggerated passion. Harry snorted, dropping her hand and coughing to cover it up.

     “The pleasure is all mine, My Lady.”

     Daniel gave him a gleeful sort of look as he walked off to corral the next girl.

     “I heard you spent a year in France,” she said, eyes searching his face in a calculating way that made Harry itch. “It’s lovely there, isn’t it?”

     “Yes,” Harry nodded, watching as Louis began to play the next song, putting entirely too much emphasis on such soft chamber music, his face twisting up with exaggerated expressions.

     “It must have been hard to come back,” she laughed. “There’s so much sun down there in the south. It’s so dreary up here.”

     “Uh, yes,” Harry nodded, still focused on Louis who had squeezed his eyes shut as if in deep concentration.

     “Did you visit the palace while you were there?” she asked. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to live in a palace like that, ever since I was a little girl.”

     “Mhmm,” Harry hummed. Louis was holding the lute like a violin and pretending to weep from the power of the music, all while plucking away such a mild, commonplace tune. “Me too.”

     “You know it wouldn’t take much to bring that kind of elegance to a place like this,” she told him. “All it needs is a woman’s touch.”

     Behind her shoulder Louis fell to the floor under the weight of all his theatrics.

     “HA!” Harry barked, covering his mouth quickly and hoping no one had noticed. Louis was still splayed out on the ground, shaking with laughter at Harry’s outburst. Harry faked a coughing fit, glaring at Louis who was smiling innocently at him.

     “Are you alright, My Lord?” Lady Annabelle asked, frowning.

     “Perfectly fine,” Harry assured her, his voice hoarse.

     “Perhaps you’d like something to drink,” she offered. “I could call over a servant?”

     “No need,” Harry waved her off. “I’ll, em, I can find one myself. If you’ll excuse me, My Lady. It’s been lovely meeting you.”

     “And you as well,” she said as he slipped away. He wove through the many dancing couples and finally escaped towards the kitchens, hearing muffled clapping as the music faded out. There were a few servants carrying trays of raspberry wine heading towards the ballroom so he stopped one to take a cup.

     “You know it’s rude to leave your own party without saying goodbye,” came a voice from behind him.

     “It’s rude to distract as you did,” Harry countered, taking a long gulp of his wine.

     He felt Louis at his back, his hands settling on Harry’s hips. He could feel Louis’ breath on the back of his neck and he shivered. Harry glanced around, finding the hallway empty but knowing that it wouldn’t be for long.

     “Come on,” he whispered, taking Louis’ hand in his own and pulling him towards the door.

     It was cold outside in the darkened gardens, but the biting chill of winter had long since faded away. Soon, the warmth of summer would be chasing away the constant clouds of Sommerstarr, if only for a few short months. Harry tugged him along towards a stone bench shrouded by tall rose bushes and apple trees. They’d be safe there, away from prying eyes, and as they fell into eachothers arms they were surrounded by the sweet scent of roses and apple blossoms.

     “I hate these balls,” Louis murmured, holding Harry against his chest and biting at his jaw. “I get jealous, seeing you with everyone else.”

     “You’ve got nothing to be jealous of,” Harry promised him, nuzzling against Louis’ neck and pressing his lips to his collarbone. “If I had to be king I’d choose you for my queen in an instant.”

     “Queen Tommo,” Louis laughed, pressing his smiling mouth against Harry’s. “I’d make a lovely queen you know.”

     “I do,” Harry nodded. “You’d look beautiful in a crown.”

     He reached up, taking the simple gold crown he was made to wear for any formal event from his own head and placing it on Louis’. It was decorated with sparkling floral designs which circled his head like a halo.

     “There,” Harry murmured, a delighted smile spreading across his face. “As pretty as a picture.”

     Louis was blushing, seemingly afraid to move with the priceless piece of jewelry on his head. He looked just as wonderful in the crown as Harry had thought he would, a beautiful contradiction of golden flowers and bristly beard, high sculpted cheekbones and long fluttering eyelashes. The gold seemed to brighten his blue eyes, both shining in the dim light from the castle.

     “You’d better take this off before I break it,” Louis told him.

     Harry kissed him instead, pressing Louis back against the bench and gently nipping his lips until they parted for him. Louis wound his arms around his waist and pulled him closer, licking into Harry’s mouth as he sighed. Without pulling away Harry slung his leg over Louis’ and planted himself in his lap, making the other boy jump in surprise. The crown slid from his head and fell to the ground, landing safely in the grass even as Louis gasped, breaking their kiss and reaching for it in vain.

     “Shit,” he muttered, looking to Harry with wide eyes. “I’m sorry.”

     “It’s fine,” Harry told him, reaching down to pick up the crown and brushing it off. When he sat back down he returned to his place beside Louis, keeping their hips pressed side-by-side. “See? It’s sturdy.”

     “Still,” Louis said, looking it over himself to double check that nothing had been broken. “That’s not the sort of thing I could replace if I needed to.”

     “You wouldn’t need to,” Harry frowned, taking Louis’ hand. 

     “That’s the way I was raised,” Louis shrugged. “If you break something, you have to replace it. I know it’s different for you − and that’s good, you’re lucky to have the sort of life that you do − but I never wore a crown growing up.”

     “Tell me about it,” Harry said, leaning into him. “Please. I’d like to know about your life.”

     “What would you like to know?”

     “Everything,” Harry told him. “Anything. Tell me about your family.”

     Louis hummed, looking out over the garden.

     “My mum ran a shop,” Louis began, playing with Harry’s fingers as he spoke. “My dad was in the army, before he died. I never really knew him much, but he’d send all his earnings home to us. He died just after my sister Lottie was born. Then I started helping around the shop and my mum met another man. He was a merchant and it was a good job, which was good because my mum had my three youngest sisters with him and we needed the money. Then he buggered off somewhere and left her alone with us. And then she got sick. I was fourteen when she died, and I took over the shop. She was a good mum, the best really, and she’d taught me how to read and write herself and I’d been helping her for so long it wasn’t hard to run it myself. It’s a spice shop, herbs and teas and things, so business was never too bad. But it was just me and the four girls and money was always tight, but I could play music. I’d always been good with music, mum taught me that too, and I had her old lute so I started playing in the streets after I’d closed the shop for the night. It wasn’t long before I was playing in taverns and pubs and then at parties and pretty soon I was making better money with it than I’d ever made at the shop. Then I was invited to play for the king, what must have been my audition as personal jester to the crown prince. It all went downhill from there, didn’t it?”

     “Hey,” Harry whined, despite the fond smile on his face. “What happened to the shop?”

     “Lottie runs it now, her and Fizzy. We could visit it some time if you’d like?”

     “I’d love that.”

     “I’d have to write them first, to warn them,” Louis told him. “They’re not the best at being discreet.”

     “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Harry said, looking down at their clasped fingers. “Well I didn’t want to be presumptuous, and I’d hate to offend − I don’t want you to think that I see you as a charity of some sort, it’s just that I’d like to help if I can, even if it’s in a small way...”

     “Harry,” Louis said, squeezing his hand. “You were going to ask?”

     “Yes,” Harry nodded. “Erm, you’d mentioned your sisters before and I know how expensive girl’s clothes can be. I bought a lot of things for Gemma in France. So I had Zayn round up all of Gemma’s old clothes and put them into trunks for me, and I thought I might send them to your sisters? Would that be okay? I don’t know their sizes but there’s all kinds of − ”

     Louis cut him off with a kiss, smiling fondly.

     “They’d love that,” he told him. “I’ll never hear the end of it, really. Lottie will be bragging for years that she’s got a princess’ clothes. She acts enough like a princess already, imagine when she’s got the wardrobe for it. And I’m sure Fizzy would be very grateful. She’s shyer about asking for things, but I know her clothes are getting worn. And the twins will be ecstatic.”

     “Good,” Harry sighed, relieved. “I’ll have Zayn send them out tomorrow. And if there’s anything else I can do, I’d like to help you. Anything to make things easier. You know I could make it so you’d never have to work again, and I’d do it if I ever thought you’d accept.”

     “Not a chance,” Louis grinned, kissing him again. “I love my job. But thank you for the offer, really. You’ll be the first person I come to if I ever find myself in need of a sponsor.”

     “You’d better,” Harry grinned, cheeks dimpling, and tugged him in for a longer kiss.

 

     Harry and Louis had been exchanging letters since Louis’ first visit to the tower, and it had become a highlight to Harry’s day. Although he was free some days to spend hours hidden away in Louis’ arms there were just as many in which he was swept away to attend meetings or to organise events, or in which Louis was pulled off to performances or appearances across the kingdom. Some days they weren’t able to see each other at all, and Harry was filled with such a longing that he could almost burst. But there were always letters. Whether they’d been apart for days or had spent every waking moment together, they still had sweet words to remind the other of their affections.

     It was always during their time apart that Harry would start to worry again, would change his mind about everything a thousand times a day. He’d drafted countless letters apologetically telling Louis that they needed to end whatever it was they had started, but he had never been able to send one of them. He was selfish, really, and in the end he could never bear to give up the feeling of  _ love _ and  _ safety _ and  _ home _ that he got every time he saw Louis or received one of his letters.

     On one particular day Harry had been missing Louis terribly. The jester had been sent off to the other side of the kingdom to perform for some traveling dignitaries while they passed through the boarders and he’d been gone for nearly a week. Still, Niall had delivered a new letter each day. Louis must have written them in advance, for no post had come in, and the thought of Louis planning letters to keep Harry company in his absence made Harry’s heart flutter.

     When Niall delivered his daily letter, much earlier than usual and complaining all the while about the early hour, Harry felt as if he could soar. Louis was due back any day and he’d grown anxious, always watching out the window of the tower for the approaching carriage which would bring Louis back to him. He ran his fingertips reverently over the thick parchment, sealed with golden wax and stamped with Louis’ signature sunflower. As he unfolded the paper he wondered where Louis kept the stock of letters, if he hid them away in his room or if he gave them all to Niall at once and instructed him to space them out. He smiled as Louis’ boyish scrawl was revealed. To his surprise he found two pages, rather than the usual single sheet. The first was one of Louis’ standard letters.

_      Sweet Princess, _

_      I have been told that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I am not sure how much fonder of you I can get. I fear my poor heart will give out before my return, too filled with love for you to function any further. But fear not, my love, for I will be back in your arms before you have even missed me. I will be back to pester you as a bee pesters a flower, to follow you like a shadow until you have become so sick of me you will wish for me to travel again.  _

_      Devotedly Yours, _

_      L _

     Harry looked to the other page, smiling sappily at all that Louis had written, and found it full of clumsy, untrained designs for some sort of boat-shaped device. At least he thought it looked like a boat − it also quite resembled a lumpy hat or a loaf of bread. There were squiggly lines drawn around it which Harry had assumed were to represent water, but on second thought could be steam coming off of the bread. Scrawled at the bottom was a small note that read  _ Meet me at the duck pond. _

     Harry laughed breathlessly, pulling a pair of boots over his yellow hose and flying down the stairs as he rushed towards the pond. When he ran out into the crisp morning air and saw Louis standing near the water’s edge he increased his speed, barely touching the ground as he flung himself forward, straight into Louis’ waiting arms.

     “I missed you so much,” Harry gasped, clinging to Louis as tightly as he could, pressing his face to his neck and inhaling the now familiar smell of tobacco and rosemary. When Louis brought his hands up to cup the back of Harry’s head the scent of warm brass was added to the mix, always clinging to Louis’ hands from his habit of rubbing the brass bells of his hat. “My heart has finally returned to the palace.”

     “I dreamt of you every night, My Dove,” Louis whispered, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple. “Ten days become ten years without you by my side, and yet ten hours become ten seconds when you’re here.”

     “Then don’t leave my side,” Harry said, holding him tighter.

     “Never,” Louis swore, kissing Harry’s forehead as he pulled away. “We’d better be careful though. The ducks do like to gossip.”

     “Let them,” Harry frowned. “It doesn’t matter what they say.”

     “It doesn’t,” Louis agreed, “but you know we shouldn’t give them more to talk about.”

     Harry nodded half heartedly and Louis laced their fingers reassuringly.

     “Someday it won’t matter at all,” Louis promised him. “Someday you won’t even think about them.”

     Harry still looked a bit glum so Louis tugged him in for a chaste kiss which brightened his face.

     “Now,” Louis began, using all the flair of a court jester. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here.”

     “It was killing me not to know,” Harry said, playing along. “Won’t you tell me?”

     “Won’t I just?” Louis grinned. “It has been brought to my attention that one Lady Geraldine has quite the predicament on her hands. Er. Wings.” Harry stifled a giggle behind his fingers. “This beautiful, talented, well mannered hen has but one flaw, being her inability to swim. A tragedy, as it prevents her ever important socialisation, and likely makes her quite sad. But no more shall she spend nights weeping at her roost! No, her days of woe are coming to a close, for I, The Great Tommo, have found the solution for her troubles!”

     “Which is?” Harry prompted.

     “A boat, Sweet Harold! The mightiest vessel ever sailed in this briney pond! The most beautiful boat Poseidon will have ever seen!”

     “I love it,” Harry laughed gleefully. “Geraldine will love it.”

     From the vaugest and most shambly of plans, somehow building began. It took them most of the day to find and nick things enough to even try, but a pile began at one end of the lower lawn that included but was not limited to: A dented silver tray, two ornate legs remaining from an ill fated chair, a yard of blue silk, the wheels from a since returned child’s wagon, a reasonable amount of candy, and tools that Louis had snuck from Niall’s tool chest (several rivets and a hammer, but no nails). After standing looking at the pile of supplies Harry boldy determined that they really did need nails and perhaps it would make more sense to use the base of the wagon, not just the wheels. They were still too attached to the blue silk, however, and it soon became a makeshift sail. 

“We don’t really need a sail, if I’m pushing it,” Harry tried to concede when Louis held up the silk questioningly. 

“If you like it, we should keep it.” Louis folded it over his arm. “I’m positive Lady Geraldine will appreciate its aesthetics.”

The boat was built by the late afternoon with a great deal of decoration and very little testing of floatation or durability. Making the most of the last hour of sunlight they drug the beautiful, already dilapidated boat to the shoreline. It took more coaxing than usual to get the lady in question out of her coop, but Harry cradled her and fed her barley steadily until she calmed enough to stand by the pond as Louis ceremoniously lowered the barely held-together boat into the water. 

     “How sure are you this is going to work?” Harry petted Geraldine with the crook of one finger.

     “It's going to work.” Louis wadded farther into the pond. “We just have to believe it will.”  Louis threw his arms up triumphantly once the boat was afloat. “Now, My Rose, please hand me Her Ladyship.”

     Harry laughed, stepping into the water himself and extending the half asleep chicken. She was handed with a great deal of respect to Louis, who began to lower her carefully in the boat. No sooner had the bird been set afloat than she felt the water collecting steadily around her feet and gave a distressed sort of squawk, flapping her wings furiously and launching herself towards the shore in a flurry of feathers. Directly between her and the shore, however, was poor unfortunate Louis, who was bowled over full force by a panicking chicken and landed with a splash in the water. Harry, aware Louis was in no danger of drowning in less than two feet of water, burst out laughing even as Louis gasped from the cold of the pond. Louis reached up an arm to the still laughing Harry and rather than pull himself up, yanked Harry in. Taken completely off guard, Harry half shrieked with laughter and surprise, falling next to Louis in the murky waters. Geraldine ruffled her feathers indignantly from the grass.

     “You complete ass!” Harry gasped at his partner in boat building.

     “ _ I’m _ the ass? I could have drowned and you just stood there laughing! You’re  _ still  _ laughing!”

     “Then you’re doing your job, aren’t you?”

     Harry stood up and drug the sopping Louis to his feet. Together they walked dejectedly back to the castle, dragging their failed vessel behind them and shivering in their wet clothes. Harry tried to persuade Louis to join him for a hot bath to warm up but Louis only kissed his nose, saying “You'd never get clean with a brute like me in there with you, Princeling.”

     When Louis’ shivering hadn’t stopped the next day and he could go scarcely a minute without sneezing he was ordered to remain in bed and forbidden from performing until his cold had cleared. Harry had grown worried when he came down for breakfast and the jester had been absent. He’d had to ask around, eventually finding Simon who told him begrudgingly that one of the nurses had forced the jester into bedrest. Harry had burst into Louis’ room without knocking, desperate to know that Louis was okay.

     “Darling,” he murmured when he saw Louis curled up in bed, looking much smaller than usual. His eyes were closed and Harry was torn between waking him and leaving him to sleep. In the end his need to check on Louis won out and he perched himself on the edge of the bed, leaning down to press his lips against Louis’ sweat-damp forehead, the skin a bit too warm under his own.

     Louis hummed, his eyelids fluttering.

     “Haz?” he mumbled, voice rumbly and raspy. He blinked up at him with bleary eyes and Harry smiled softly in sympathy, brushing his fingers through Louis’ matted hair. 

     “How are you?”

     “Just peachy,” Louis husked, the wry smile he was trying for ruined by the coughing fit he was thrown into.

     Harry helped him to sit up against the headboard, blushing furiously when the blankets fell away and Louis’ bare chest was revealed. He rubbed a soothing hand over his back, silently reveling in all of the soft tanned skin that had always been hidden away. When his coughing subsided Louis tugged Harry closer beside him and rested his head on his shoulder. Harry handed him the small jug on the rickety little bedside table and scratched Louis’ scalp while he gulped down the water.

     “There you are,” he tutted, taking the jug back as Louis wiped his dripping mouth on the back of his hand.

     “You shouldn’t be here,” Louis told him, even as he nestled closer. “I don’t want you getting sick as well.”

     “I’ll be fine,” Harry told him, tucking the blankets around him. “You’d be fine too if you’d have just taken a bath with me.”

     “It’ll always be my greatest regret.” Louis closed his eyes and pressed his nose against Harry’s throat, tangling their hands between them. “Tell me a story.”

     “What, like the time I caught Liam and Zayn going at it in the armory?”

     Louis huffed out an amused breath against his neck.

     “No, something to make me feel  _ less _ sick,” he smiled. “Tell me something nice.”

     Harry thought for a moment, playing with Louis’ fingers.

     “Have I told you about my first Beltane? When my mother brought me into town?”

     Louis hummed, shaking his head lightly.

     So Harry told him all about his first Beltane, and the one after that, until Louis’ breathing had evened out and he was snoring lightly beside him. Then Harry poked around for a cloth to soak in cool water and laid it over Louis’ forehead, routinely checking his temperature with a gentle press of his lips to his fevered skin, and refilling his water jug whenever it ran empty. He barely left Louis’ side for days, bringing all of his meals there and making sure that Louis got enough to eat. He brought him tea with honey for his throat and peppermint to settle his stomach. Soon enough the worst of the cold was over and Louis was anxious to get outside, despite Harry’s insistence that he stay in bed until he was completely healthy.

     Then one night Harry was woken by a light tapping at his window.

     He sprung from his bed, pulling his loose nightshirt down around his knees, and crept towards the darkened window. He had long since extinguished the many candles in his room so he had only the dim embers in the fireplace to see by as he unhinged the window and peered out into the night.

     “Fancy meeting you here,” Louis grinned, clinging to the trellis of vines and flowers that grew up from the ground to circle Harry’s window.

     “Louis!” he gasped, glancing down at the ground so far below and feeling a bit dizzy on Louis’ behalf. “What are you doing?”

     “I missed you,” Louis said, as if that was explanation enough. He shifted a bit and winced. “Do you think you could help me up a bit, Love?”

     “You bloody  _ idiot, _ ” Harry grumbled, grabbing him under the arms and helping to haul him up and over the windowsill, both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs. “What were you  _ thinking? _ You could have died if you’d fallen! You shouldn’t even be out of bed!”

     “I missed you,” Louis said again, grinning.

     “I don’t care if you missed me,” Harry frowned. “You nearly killed me with fright, Arsehole.”

     “I’m sorry,” Louis laughed, tugging him closer and kissing his cheek.

     “You’re not,” Harry huffed.

     “I’m not,” Louis agreed, kissing his other cheek.

     “You’re an arsehole.”

     “I am.”

     Louis kissed his nose, then his chin.

     “I hate you.”

     “You don’t.”

     Louis bit his neck lightly.

     “I don’t.”

     “I know.”

     “Make it up to me,” Harry told him, tipping his head to give Louis easier access to his neck.

     “I will.”

     Louis scooped him up, throwing them both into the downy softness of Harry’s bed, still warm from his brief interrupted sleep. They kissed lazily, tired from the late hour, slowly melting into the pile of pillows under their heads. They whispered to each other as they kissed, nonsensical dream-like things filled with wonder. Both shushed each other’s quiet laughter alternately with warning words and softer kisses, afraid they’d be found out if anyone heard them. Harry fell asleep with his head on the crook of Louis’ shoulder, listening to his heartbeat slow as they both drifted off.


	10. Louis

     Louis woke up disoriented, so used to waking stiff and aching in his own cold hard bed that it was startling to feel anything else. Rather than wooden planks digging into his back through a thin layer of straw-filled mattress he was floating on a huge cushion of goosefeathers, draped in the softest blankets made of quilted velvet and silk. All of the luxury around him became irrelevant though when he felt the strong warm arms of the prince wrapped around his middle, a heavy head pillowed on his chest.

     Harry was snuffling lightly in his sleep, twitching his nose and brushing his lips over Louis’ sternum, one hand tucked up Louis’ shirt and resting on his belly, fingers fluttering a bit against his skin. Louis smiled down at him, studying his face in the rosy morning light coming through the open window. They must have forgotten to close it the night before and the room was frigid with lingering night air. It was warm beneath the blankets though, pressed together as they were, and Louis hadn’t even noticed the chill. Harry’s nose had gone pink, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his lips a bit redder than usual. Louis couldn’t help but to duck down and capture his lips with his own, feeling Harry’s chilled nose press against his own heated cheek.

     He could feel it as Harry woke up, his lips starting to move under Louis’ as he began to kiss back. Soon Harry had snaked his arms around Louis’ neck, rolling until Louis was pressing him down into the pillows, licking into his mouth.

     “I’d like to wake up every morning like this,” Harry gasped when they finally broke apart. 

     “I’d be happy to oblige,” Louis grinned, dipping down to bite at Harry’s full bottom lip. He slid his hands down to squeeze at the soft swell of Harry’s hips before finding the ruffled hem of his nightshirt and gathering the fabric in his fists. He was just beginning to inch the shirt up his thighs when they heard a knock at the door.

     “Ignore it,” Harry whispered when Louis froze, trying to pull him back into the kiss.

     “Did you lock the door last night?” Louis whispered back.

     Harry’s eyes went wide.

     “I can’t remember.”

     “Your Highness?” Zayn’s voice called through the closed door.

     Louis sighed, slumping down on top of Harry.

     “Just a moment, Zayn!” Harry yelled back.

     “Alright,” Zayn said. “Just call for me when you’d like to start dressing.”

     “That won’t be necessary,” Harry replied. “I’ll be dressing myself today.”

     They waited with baited breath for the sound of footsteps but none came.

     “Was there anything else you needed?” Harry called.

     “I’m supposed to ask,” Zayn said, an odd tone in his voice. “Your jester wasn’t in his room this morning. Any idea where he could have gotten off to?”

     Harry made a strangled sort of noise in his throat, smacking Louis’ shoulder when he exploded with barely contained laughter.

     “No idea!” he shouted, voice strained. “Maybe he took an early morning walk!”

     “Of course,” Zayn said, not a hint of belief in his voice. “I’ll see you at lunch, Your Majesty.”

     “Thank you, Zayn.”

     Harry shoved Louis off of him when he wouldn’t stop snickering, shaking with laughter.

     “Did you forget about your wakeup call?” he asked, frowning. “You couldn’t have snuck back to your own bed before they came looking for you?”

     “I thought you liked waking up like this,” Louis grinned, rolling back over to kiss his cheek. “Thought this was the best morning of your entire life.”

     “I never said that,” Harry grumbled petulantly.

     “It’s the best morning of  _ my _ entire life,” Louis told him, kissing his jaw. “I like waking up next to you.”

     Harry wrinkled his nose and clenched his teeth.

     “Stop fighting me, Sweet Princess,” Louis grinned, licking over a love bite just above Harry’s collar bone. “I thought we were past this.”

     He dug his fingers into the dip of Harry’s waist, making him squirm and bark out a shout of laughter.

     “Stop!” Harry yelped as Louis swung himself up to straddle his hips, holding him down and wriggling his fingers into all of Harry’s soft spots until he was crying with laughter, panting and out of breath. Louis pressed a kiss to his flushed cheek and stood up from the bed, stepping towards the boudoir.

     “What would you like to wear today, Princeling? We’ve got to get you dressed.”

     Harry only groaned, flopping back against the pillows with a huff.

 

     Louis was enchanted by the endless rows of vials and pots and powder puffs that littered Harry’s vanity, all lined up neatly and polished to shine brightly in the light filtering through the windows of Harry’s boudoir. Harry was sitting comfortably in the overstuffed chair set in front of the table and Louis had taken a cushioned seat on the floor beside him, content to watch for hours if Harry let him. Louis was used to the small clay pots of pigments and grease paint that Zayn would make for him to use when he wanted to spice up his act with a more daring costume, but these were different. These little vials of color had been made with great care, and he could see that Harry had treated them with a sort of reverence. Every rosey pink and dusty lavender was set carefully in it’s own place, the bottles handled with a gentleness that only Harry seemed capable of.

     “So how do you usually do it?” Louis asked, leaning his cheek against the table for a good view. This close he could smell the rosewater that Harry had used to wash himself with before he dressed. “Just go at it?”

     “No!” Harry laughed lightly, looking away from where he’d been studying the tiny bottles before him. “Is that how you do yours?”

     “Usually,” Louis nodded. “Not much skill required when you’re a jester, just got to look silly. But I guess you would take a bit more care. You never look silly.”

     Harry smiled and reached for a big cloudlike powder puff and dipped it into an open vat of white powder. He pressed the powder into his skin, leaving a light dusting of white in its wake and causing a wispy cloud of talc to bloom around him. His nose wrinkled from the attack but he continued, arching his neck and tilting his face in the mirror to check the progress as he went.

     “Very ghostly,” Louis grinned, pulling one knee up to his chest while he watched.

     Harry pursed his lips in amusement.

     “I’m not finished yet.”

     He patted off the rest of the powder and returned the puff to its little porcelain tray. Next he reached for a small pot of pink-red  _ fucus _ , undoing the lid and dipping a long glossy brush into the rouge. He brought it up to his cheek carefully, his hand steady as he brushed it in small circular strokes until a pink glow of life returned to his face. Louis wanted to experiment and see how much of his blush would be visible through the makeup if Louis were to tease him.

     “Like a cherub,” Louis mused as Harry moved on to a pale pale pink powder that seemed to glow as he brushed it across his fluttering eyelids. “Eros in the flesh.”

     “You must be Dionysus,” Harry said with a wry smile. “Reclined as you are, the perfect way to watch the madness you’ve created.”

     “I’d rather watch you,” Louis told him.

     Harry reached for a small white jar and undid the top to reveal a light raspberry colored salve that he scooped up with the tip of one finger and spread over his lips, leaving them pink and bitten-looking and lovely. Louis wanted to bite them himself, to see if the salve tasted of the berries it was colored with.

     “Pretty as a picture,” Louis commented, bringing Harry’s eyes back to him. Most people in court wore some sort of cosmetics, but Harry wore them better than anyone Louis had ever seen. When the other men in court painted up their faces they were coating themselves in a false softness that Louis always thought looked a bit silly. For Harry though, he was only accentuating a softness that was already there. His pale pink powders only highlighted the natural flush to his skin, doing nothing to distract from the strong set of his wide shoulders or his skill with a sword. He was a wonderful mix of softness and strength, and his structured velvet doublets and his rosebud pink cheeks were just small reminders of it. “Is that all? What are these for?”

     He stretched out his arm towards the bundles of satin ribbons beside the vanity.

     “I don’t use those anymore,” Harry told him, biting the inside of his cheek.

     “No?” Louis asked, taking a bit of the silky material between two fingers and pulling the ribbon out to see the sheen of it in the light. “They’re pretty.”

     “My mother used to tie them into my hair, back when it was long enough to.”

     “Oh,” Louis hummed, looking between the ribbon in his hand and the boy before him. “It’s getting longer, your hair.”

     “Yes,” Harry agreed. “I’ve not had it cut since I left France.”

     When Harry had first arrived his hair was just barely curling above his ears but in his many months back at the palace it had grown down towards his shoulders, often pooling in the high-necked ruffs he liked to wear.

     “I like it like this,” Louis told him. 

     “Me too,” Harry smiled. He took the ribbon from Louis and ran it between his fingers. “This one almost matches your eyes.”

     He held the ribbon up to confirm his words and Louis batted his eyelashes as Harry assessed the hue.

     “Your blue is nicer,” he said at last, laying the satin in a loose coil on the tabletop. It was the only thing left out of place.

     The next day when Louis met him outside of the hall for breakfast Harry’s usual lace collar was gone, replaced instead by the blue satin ribbon, tied in a neat little bow around his neck, only an inch above the mess of love bites hidden by his doublet. Something about the sight made Louis’ heart ache with want, overtaken by the strong desire to feel the satin under his lips as he kissed Harry’s neck, as he marked him where others would see. The ribbon itself felt like a sort of marking, as if Harry were a gift wrapped just for Louis. It made Harry feel  _ his _ , whether he was dancing with girls in court or gasping against Louis’ mouth in the tower.

     He was still wearing the ribbon days later when they visited the stables.

     “Hey!” Harry laughed, pulling the satin out of a curious goat’s mouth and replacing it with a bit of cabbage. He smoothed the leg of the bow against his chest, a bit damp from the goat’s spit but otherwise unharmed. Louis set a hand on his hip and eyed the goat wearily, feeling a bit protective of Harry’s ribbon.

     “What’s her name then?” Louis asked, watching the goat devour the cabbage leaf, her large protruding belly shaking when she moved.

     “That’s Rosemary,” Harry smiled, reaching over the small fence to scratch behind the stumps of her horns. “She’ll be having twins any day now. They’ll be named Thistle and Thyme when they’re born.”

     “And you chose the names?”

     “I always choose the names,” Harry told him. “It’s one of my princely duties.”

     “And what about this one?” Louis asked, pointing to a sheep in the next stall. “What’s her name?”

     “Marzipan,” Harry smiled. “And her sister there is Marshmallow.”

     “Fitting,” Louis grinned. “And the cow?”

     Harry danced over to the larger stall, pulling himself up on the fence so he could pet the heart shaped spot on the cow’s forehead.

     “This is Gemma-La,” he said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

     “Gemola?” Louis snickered, coming up beside him. “What sort of a name is that?”

     “Gemma _ -Lah _ ,” Harry corrected, going a bit pink. “I was quite young when I named her, I didn’t know many names. But she’s got pretty eyes, just like Gemma’s, so I improvised.”

     “It’s nice,” Louis grinned, reaching out his own hand to pet down her nose. “It’s nice to meet you, Gemma-La.”

     When he looked back at Harry he was thumbing over the ribbon on his neck, eyes already fixed on Louis.

     “You’ve been wearing that a lot,” Louis said, brushing over the bow with his fingers, feeling Harry swallow as he pressed against his throat.

     “Yeah,” Harry said, voice husky. Almost defiant. “I like it.”

     “Yeah?” Louis asked, tracing the line of ribbon with the tip of his finger.

     “I like how it makes me feel.”

     “And how’s that?” Louis asked, bringing his hand up to cup Harry’s jaw.

     “Yours.”

     Louis crashed their lips together, backing Harry against the wooden fence of one stall. Harry let out a small noise, gripping Louis’ hips and pressing more firmly against him. He had to slouch down to give Louis easier access, his heeled shoes exaggerating their few inches difference in height. They broke apart only when the goat in the pen behind them started to chew on Harry’s sleeve.

     “You fancy a roll in the hay?” Louis asked wryly, a bit out of breath as he nodded towards the pile of hay in the corner of the barn.

     Harry wrinkled his nose.

     “Hay makes me sneeze.”

     “Somewhere else then,” Louis laughed, kissing him again.

     “I’d go anywhere with you,” Harry grinned, laughing breathlessly as Louis took his hand and pulled him out of the stables, the two of them running clumsily towards the vast expanse of trees that bordered the castle grounds. They kept their hands clasped even as they tripped over tree roots and fallen leaves, pulling each other up as they went. They were both gasping for air by the time they reached the old orchards, slumping together and taking deep steadying breaths as they soaked up the midday sun.

     “Do you remember being little and running across fields just for the hell of it?” Louis panted slightly.

     “I wasn't really supposed to do things like that,” Harry said, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms. “I mean, I did anyway, but I would get in trouble. The impending trouble was probably half the fun.”

     “You were quite the little menace, weren’t you?” Louis asked, stepping forward to corner him in against the trunk of a tall peach tree. He settled his hands at Harry’s waist, ducking his head to plant a kiss on Harry’s neck, just over the satin ribbon.

     “Louis!” Harry gasped, craning away from Louis’ lips. “What sort of a boy do you take me for?”

     “Oh!” Louis sputtered, stepping back. “I was just, er, − ”

     “Trying to seduce me?” Harry finished for him, quirking one eyebrow.

     “No,” Louis shook his head. “I mean yes, but not, uh, not exactly like that...”

     “Trying to steal my virtue?” Harry grinned, shortening the distance between them.

     “Just a bit,” Louis smiled, eyes flicking down to Harry’s lips.

     “You fiend!” Harry giggled, suddenly disappearing as he darted away between the peach trees, cloaked by the thick sprays of leaves and fruit. Louis fumbled for a moment before running after him, feet slipping in the dirt and his limbs protesting after so much exertion. He sprinted blindly through the orchards, following the briefest flashes of Harry’s peach colored clothing through the trees. He could hear their laughter echoing off of the low stone walls that fenced in the trees, melding together and bouncing back at them.

     Suddenly Harry’s laughter went silent and Louis lost sight of him. He kept running forward, dragging his heaving limbs and looking all around for another flash of pink among the green.

_      Well shit, _ he thought, circling around an overgrown mulberry bush.  _ I’ve gone and lost the crown prince. _

     A sudden weight at his back sent him tumbling forward into the soft, mossy ground.

     “I won,” Harry grinned, straddling his chest once Louis twisted around to lay on his back.

     “I wasn’t aware we were competing,” Louis panted, smiling up at him. The sun shining through the mulberry leaves cast a bright halo around Harry’s head. He was torn between catching his breath and laughing but couldn’t quite accomplish either before Harry ducked down to pepper him with kisses, starting out soft and light but quickly becoming deeper, lazier, the warm air countering any trace of winter left in the orchard. 

     Later, once the sun had begun hanging lower in the sky and both of their clothes were covered in dirt, flecks of moss caught in Harry’s curls, Louis drug himself up to rest against the trunk of the tree. Harry settled in with his back to Louis’ chest, watching the sun disappear behind the tops of the trees. The low-hanging mulberry branches created a private sort of canopy around them. Louis reached up and began to pluck mulberries from just over their heads, making a little pile in the grass at his side. He offered a berry to Harry who parted his lips, holding out his tongue for Louis to place it on. He continued to work through the pile, alternately eating the berries and feeding them to Harry, feeling his tongue swipe over the pads of his fingers. Harry picked a single berry up for himself, but instead of eating it, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger until juice bled out onto his finger tips.

     “Looks a bit like blood,” Louis mused.

     “Blood isn’t purple,” Harry countered. “I think it’s lovely.”

     Harry was silent for a bit, then turned, fingertips still a dark violet, to face Louis. Slowly, he dragged a fingertip across Louis’ cheekbone, leaving a lighter line of the berry’s color across it. Louis sighed a little when Harry then leaned forward to kiss it off, licking the last drop of berry juice from Louis face. Harry repeated the process again on Louis jaw and the side of his neck, then pressed the destroyed mulberry itself to Louis lips, kissing him before any of the sweet, sticky flavor had left his mouth. 

     “And you say I’m the fiend,” Louis murmured, sure his lips were forever stained. 

     “You are,” Harry smiled before kissing him again. “But you’re quite good at it.”

     “Am I?” Louis chuckled, thumbing over Harry’s wine-red lips.

     “You are,” Harry nodded. “It’s good. I think a jester’s got to be a bit fiendish to be good, and I think you’re the best.”

     “I am the best, aren’t I?” Louis grinned, smugly, tightening his arms around Harry’s middle.

     “I bet I could be better,” Harry laughed, trailing his still-purple fingers over Louis’ scruffy beard.

     “Do you now?” Louis asked, squeezing Harry’s hips to make him squirm. “Let’s see then.”

     “Alright,” Harry giggled, peeling himself off of Louis’ chest and stumbling almost drunkenly to his feet. “Gimme your hat.”

     “I’m not wearing a hat, Love.”

     “In your pocket,” Harry prompted, pointing. “You’ve always got your hat on you.”

     Louis patted his pocket and was surprised to find his most trusted bell-spangled hat. He handed it over and Harry thanked him cordially, setting it jauntily on his head.

     “Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Harry began cheekily, doing a bit of a hop and setting his hands on his hips. “So glad you could join me today as I mock various members of the court, because I have no original material to work with on my own. Now laugh as I try  _ desperately _ to win the affections of the crown prince through exaggerated vignettes that I put far too much effort into! Amusing, is it not?”

     “Hey!” Louis protested, laughing. “You’re stealing all my best bits!”

     “But wait!” Harry grinned, darting to a nearby crab apple tree and plucking three of the round fruits. He circled back in front of Louis who was still reclined leisurely beneath the mulberry bush and held them out with a flourish. As he tossed the first apple into the air Louis sat up to watch, his jaw dropping as Harry threw the other two apples and caught them again in perfect, alternating rhythm. Louis wanted to grumble out of jealousy, to push Harry off balance and pester him for being so good at something Louis was so bad at, but as he watched Harry juggle the apples effortlessly he was filled only with pride. 

     “This is so unfair,” Louis called, only able to muster up a fond exasperation. 

     “It gets better!” Harry declared, tossing one of the apples up from under a bent knee before catching it again. 

     “How do you even know how to juggle?”

     “Boredom,” Harry shrugged, letting the apples fall back into his hands.

     “Will you at least teach me, if you insist on mocking me so?” Louis sighed.

     “Louis,” Harry walked back to place a hand on Louis’ shoulder affectionately. “Of course not.”

     Louis tackled the still laughing Harry to the ground, the apples long forgotten as they rolled beneath the mulberry bush.


	11. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Private Jest Sesh In The Private Jest Nest

_      My Sweetest Creature, _

_      I pray that you might meet me after sundown in my favorite place. I have gone too long without your arms at my waist or your lips against mine, and I fear I’ve grown rather weak without them. Please amend this as soon as we are together again, or I may wither away altogether. _

_      All my love, _

_      H _

 

_      My Only Angel, _

_      I would travel to the ends of the earth just to hold you in my arms. There is nothing a few flights of stairs could do to keep me away. _

_      Longing to hold you, _

_      L _

 

Harry waited anxiously in the tower for Louis to arrive, smoothing another set of imaginary wrinkles from the pink roses embroidering his golden doublet and dashing over to straighten another of the dusty velvet pillows in the tower. Louis had been to the tower a few times since Harry had first invited him in but he was still filled with nerves each time. Nobody but his mother and Gemma had ever been there with him and at first he had feared that Louis wouldn’t understand its importance to him. To his relief Louis had treated the tower with the same sort of reverence that Harry himself did, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing every time he heard a knock at the trap door. It was like sharing his most sacred secret and hoping against hope that nobody else found out. No amount of trust could take away the small tinge of anxiety Harry felt sharing something so personal with another person, even if that person was Louis.

That small tinge of anxiety only grew when he remembered what he had planned for their night together.

“Hark! What angel is this before me?”

Harry spun on his heel to find Louis sitting casually on the floor, grinning with one leg still dangling into the opening of the trap door and the other bent at the knee to rest on the floorboards.

“Hush,” Harry told him, cheeks warming. Louis looked particularly dashing in the flickering candlelight as he swung his other leg up from the opening and closed the trap door with a soft thud. 

“Won’t you let me compliment you, Sweet Prince?” Louis asked, coming to stand before Harry and holding a hand to his chest as if wounded. “Won’t you let me tell you how divine you look in this light? How angelic you appear?”

“No,” Harry said, delighting in the way that Louis’ smile grew.

“I’ll show you then.”

Louis wound his arms around the prince, tangling his fingers in Harry’s silken curls, and kissed him thoroughly. Harry felt him slip something behind his ear as he pulled away and raised his hand to inspect it. His fingers met the velvety petals of a rose blossom.

“Beautiful,” Louis told him, arranging a few loose curls around the flower. “Absolutely lovely.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, kissing Louis’ cheek and taking his hand. “I’d like to show you something.”

He lead Louis to a small door beside the old piano and unlocked it with a slightly rusted skeleton key, pushing it open with a low creak. As the door opened a stream of cool night air swirled into the room and a large balcony that was likely once used as a guards’ post was revealed. There was a stone bench set into the outer wall of the tower and Harry tugged Louis along until they were both seated, Harry’s head on Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ head on Harry’s. They both looked up with wide eyes at the twinkling sky stretched out above them.

“They’re back,” Harry breathed, pulling Louis’ hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own. “It always seems like they won’t come back but they always do.”

Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s hair but kept his eyes on the stars, trying to take them all in.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the stars,” he said, settling his free hand on Harry’s knee. “I forgot how beautiful they were.”

“It was so strange in France,” Harry told him, “seeing the stars every night, even as it got colder. It felt wrong to celebrate Yule with the stars in the sky.”

“Wasn’t it nice to see them all the time?” Louis asked. “Rather than waiting all year for them?”

“But that’s what makes them special,” Harry argued. “My mother always told me that the people of Sommerstarr loved the stars more than anybody else, because we can see their beauty better than anybody else. You’ve got to miss something in order to love it, she said. You can’t appreciate the stars when you see them every night, they just sort of blend into the sky and you don’t even see them anymore. You get used to them. In Sommerstarr we spend the whole year dreaming of stars and when we finally see them it’s like our prayers have been answered. It’s like an old friend has returned. A lost love.”

They kept watching the stars as the moon rose higher in the sky, reflecting brightly in their eyes. Every time a star shot across the sky with a trail of shimmering white they’d both gasp excitedly and point to it, mesmerised by the vast blanket of galaxies over their heads.

“They’ll be having another festival in the village,” Louis said around midnight, his thumb brushing over Harry’s knuckles. “To celebrate the return of the stars. Maybe we should join them.”

“Or we could celebrate ourselves,” Harry said, turning his head to kiss Louis. “Right here.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry gave no response but to deepen their kisses, licking over the seam of Louis’ lips until they parted for him. He swallowed the small gasp that Louis let out, tangling his fingers in the soft linen of Louis’ shirt and trying in vain to pull him closer, as if they weren’t already aligned from their chests to their feet. He suckled lightly on Louis’ tongue, humming in contentment when he felt hands at the small of his back.

He brought his fingers to the ties at the front of Louis’ white cotton shirt and began to undo the knots, brushing his knuckles over the smooth skin of his chest as it was revealed. Ducking his head to kiss the hollow of his throat and swiping a quick stripe over his collarbone with his tongue, Harry pulled at the shirt, trying to get it off. He sucked softly at the skin below Louis’ ear, sliding his fingers under his shirt to trace over his ribs.

“Haz,” Louis groaned, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and tugging. Harry let out a quiet whine low in his throat and swung one leg over Louis’, perching himself in his lap. The feeling of Louis’ hands in his hair, trailing down his neck and squeezing his hips only spurred him on. He could feel Louis growing just as desperate beneath him, his hands gripping harder and his kisses getting messier. Harry rocked softly over him, bunching up the soft fabric of his shirt and pulling it up to Louis’ shoulders, tugging expectantly and waiting for Louis to lift his arms for him.

“Lou,” Harry whined, pulling at the shirt impatiently. Louis caught his hands in his own, prying them off of the fabric and brushing over his knuckles soothingly.

“Darling,” he said, breathing heavily, pressing a placating kiss to Harry’s pouting lips. “I can only control myself so much around you.”

“Then don’t.” Harry pulled his hands free from Louis’ grasp and linked them again behind his head, pressing their foreheads together so that their lips brushed as they spoke.

“And what of your virtue?” Louis joked, making Harry dizzy with the clove sweet scent of his mouth.

“It’s yours,” Harry told him, darting out his tongue to wet his lips. “All of it. My heart, my crown, my virtue. Me. Everything. It all belongs to you.”

Louis thumbed over the blue satin ribbon at Harry’s neck, watching his eyes flutter shut with the motion.

“Are you sure?”

Harry nodded, looking more sure than Louis had ever seen him.

“I love you,” Louis murmured, leaning up to capture Harry’s lips with his own.

“And I you,” Harry whispered back, returning the kiss.

“C’m’ere,” Louis hummed, patting Harry’s thigh as signal to stand. He followed him to his feet and swept him back into the room of the tower, letting the old wooden door fall shut behind them. He pressed Harry back against the stone wall, candlelight flickering over their skin and roses crinkling as they brushed against them. Louis sucked at the hinge of Harry’s jar, clumsily loosening the shining golden laces of his doublet as he did. He broke away, laughing breathlessly when the knot wouldn’t give.

Harry grinned, huffing out an amused breath and lending his own hands, easily undoing the knot and watching as Louis pulled the string through each eyelet, heartbeat rising in anticipation. Finally the lace was dropped in a tangled coil to the floor and Louis peeled the stiff doublet away from his chest, smoothing his hands over his sides as it too fell to the floor. Harry pulled again at Louis’ shirt and watched as he lifted it over his head, tossing it aside and kicking off his boots.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry told him softly, sliding his palms over the silky golden skin of Louis’ torso, reveling in the soft swell of his belly and the faint press of his ribs. He bent his head to kiss a reddish freckle on Louis’ shoulder, nosing down to kiss the wiry muscle of his bicep then back up again. Louis smiled, kissing his cheekbone when he came back to eye level.

Louis brought his lips back to his favorite spot at the corner of Harry’s jaw, slipping his hands down to the fastenings of his trunk hose, hearing a light gasp in his ear when his fingers slid under the fabric. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips and looked at him in question, waiting for Harry to nod lightly before he kneeled to the ground, trailing his hands down to the ties that held each leg of the hose closed around his thighs. The fabric slipped further down as each fastener was undone and Louis helped Harry to step out of his heeled shoes before letting the hose fall to the floor.

Louis grinned, tracing over the tops of Harry’s silk stockings where they were held up with garters tied in neat little bows.

“Lovely,” he declared, ducking down to kiss the milky skin between the stockings and Harry’s shirt which hung down past his hips. Harry made a choked sort of noise in his throat, threading his fingers into Louis’ hair. Louis glanced up at him cheekily as he inched the shirt up Harry’s thighs, pressing a kiss to each new bit of skin that was revealed. Finally he settled with the blouse bunched up around his navel, mouthing wetly at Harry’s hip, so close but so far from where Harry wanted him most.

“Louis,” Harry groaned, tightening his grip in Louis’ hair until he was forced to pull his lips away. “Please.”

“What do you want?” Louis asked, pressing another kiss over the fresh love bite on Harry’s hip.

“You,” Harry panted, tugging him back up. “Just want you.”

“You’ve got me, Princeling,” Louis promised, pulling Harry against his chest. “I’m yours.”

Louis kissed him again, leading him back to the pile of cushions and blankets in the corner of the tower. He pulled Harry’s blouse up and over his head before laying him back against the pillows. He brought his hand to Harry’s neck and gently tugged at the ribbon there until the bow fell apart and the satin slipped away. He ducked down to kiss the now bare skin at the base of Harry’s throat and heard his breath hitch above him.

“Have you got...?”

“On the desk,” Harry pointed, cheeks flushed.

Louis kissed his heated cheek and darted over to the desk, picking up an amber bottle of primrose oil and grinning.

“You little minx,” he teased, laying down over Harry and kissing him again. “Did you plan all this?”

“Just a bit,” Harry admitted, biting his lip.

“I’d hate to let such careful plans go to waste,” Louis smiled, hitching Harry’s leg over his hip and sinking down, melting into another sweet kiss.

 

Harry woke slowly, sluggish and content as he stretched his sore limbs and yawned. There were fingers tracing shapes on his bare back and when he finally blinked his eyes open he saw Louis smiling down at him, both of them tangled up under a pile of old quilts.

“Good morning,” Louis grinned, kissing Harry’s forehead with warm lips. He smoothed his hand down Harry’s spine, settling at the small of his back. Harry only hummed in response, tucking his head under Louis’ arm and closing his eyes again.

Sometime in the night the rose in Harry’s hair had fallen apart, its petals catching in Harry’s curls and sticking to Louis’ chest. Louis lifted one hand and began to pluck the wilted petals from Harry’s hair, gently untangling them from each strand. Harry pushed into the touch, snuffling sleepily.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” he murmured, lips pressed to Louis’ sternum.

“So do I,” Louis agreed, combing through Harry’s curls with his fingers once the rose petals had been set aside in a neat little pile for Harry to dry later. “I like waking up with you. It feels wrong sleeping in my own bed now.”

“It does,” Harry nodded. “It’s so cold without you. Perhaps I should name you Official Bedwarmer of the Prince.”

“What sort of a title is that?” Louis snorted.

“Would you prefer Gentleman of the Bedchamber?”

“Sounds quite sordid, doesn’t it?” Louis grinned, reaching down to pinch Harry’s bum. Harry shrieked and wriggled around until Louis settled his hand on his hip. He pressed his nose to the crown of Harry’s head, inhaling the spicy scent of his hair and brushing his lips over the soft curls.

“Someday,” he said into his hair. “Someday it’ll be like this all the time. Every day.”

“Do you promise?” Harry asked, twisting up to rest his chin on Louis’ chest so he could see him better.

“Of course,” Louis said, tracing a finger down the bridge of Harry’s nose. “I’d give anything to be with you like this all the time.”

“What would it be like?” Harry asked, curling his arm around Louis’ waist and drawing his own patterns across his hip. “If I weren’t a prince and you weren’t a jester? If we were just two boys in the village.”

“I’d probably still have my shop,” Louis mused, tracing over Harry’s cupid’s bow. “Maybe you’d work in the flower shop across the street. That’s how we’d meet. I’d have spent months pining over the pretty boy in the flower stall, trying to work up the nerve to speak to you, wishing every day that you’d come into my shop so that I could. Then one morning I’d find some flowers on the front steps when I unlocked the door, with a little note.”

“What would the note say?” Harry asked, smiling.

“That’s just between me and this flower shop boy, isn’t it?” Louis grinned, tapping Harry on the tip of the nose and making him laugh. “It’d say ‘Louis, My Sweet, I fear I cannot go on without you! Every moment that you are not mine is shear torture! Please, have pity on me and come visit me so that I may look upon your beauty! You’re only the handsomest boy in this village, and I simply  _ must _ have you!’”

“Would it now?” Harry asked, nipping sharply at Louis’ chest and making him yelp. “Flower-Shop-Harry must think very highly of you.”

“Oh, he does,” Louis assured him. “Everyone in the village does. But he’d be the only one I ever paid attention to. I’d ask him to be my sweetheart at Beltane, maybe kiss him on the walk home if I was lucky enough, and we’d start courting. We’d be wed by Mabon, and we’d find a little cottage outside of town to live in together.”

“I’ve always wanted a cottage,” Harry said, tucking his head into the hollow of Louis’ shoulder and swirling his finger over his chest in little circles. “Like one from a faerie story.”

“That’s what we’d have,” Louis told him. “Just big enough for me and you. I’d still work in the shop, and you could have a big flower garden behind the cottage. You’d grow the nicest roses in the kingdom, but I’d still bring home bouquets of flowers for you, just to make you smile. And you could have a whole flock of chickens to raise as your own.”

“I could bake for you,” Harry added, pausing the movement of his finger. “And cook us dinner. I’d make all sorts of things.”

“And I’d do the washing up,” Louis smiled. “At night I’d read you books by the fire.”

“I could cut the wood for the fire,” Harry offered. “I made Liam teach me how once, after fencing instruction. We’d always have a warm fire to sit by.”

“That’d be lovely,” Louis grinned, hugging Harry close.

“I want all of that with you,” Harry whispered. “So badly it hurts sometimes.”

“If that’s what you want I’ll give it to you,” Louis told him, kissing his temple. “But it might not be so simple. You’ve got a family, a whole kingdom to think about. I’ve got nothing tying me here but you, but you’ve got a crown tying you to this castle.”

“I’d give it up,” Harry told him, pushing himself up until they were eye-to-eye. “I would, if it meant I could be with you. I’d do it in a second.”

“Harry,” Louis breathed, eyes filled with emotion. “You− You don’t know what you’d be losing.”

“I  _ do _ ,” Harry argued, face determined. “I’m not stupid. I know what I’ve got, what I’d lose. It’s nothing compared to what I’d have with you.”

“But what− What about Gemma?”

“I hardly see her as it is,” Harry told him. “Once she’s crowned I’ll see her even less. But she’d understand, I think. She wants me to be happy, and you make me happy. Even if she didn’t, she’d come around. And I could write to her.”

“But−” Louis tried again, scrambling for another counterpoint.

“I know what I want,” Harry said, nosing at Louis’ cheek. “I want you.”

“What about your father?”

Harry faltered, pulling back an inch.

“Thats... A bit more complicated.” He laced his fingers with Louis’, looking down at their hands for a moment. “I don’t know if he’d understand. I think he made his feelings quite clear when Bartholomew was sent away. But I  _ want _ him to understand. He’s my father, and he’s not an unreasonable man. I’d like to think that he could understand.”

“I’m sure in time,” Louis agreed, brushing over Harry’s knuckles with his thumb.

“I think...” Harry began, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I think I’d like to tell him. About us. Gemma too. Not right away, but I don’t want to hide. I want to be with you − all the time.”

“You should,” Louis said, squeezing his hand. “If that’s what you want.”

“But what if it goes poorly?” Harry asked, worry clouding his expression. “They might hate me. They might hate  _ you _ .”

“Not a chance,” Louis smiled halfheartedly. “Everybody loves me.”

Harry pinched his side.

“No matter what we’d be together,” Louis promised him, gently cupping his cheek. “If they exiled you I’d be right there with you, and if they crowned you king I’d be kneeling by your throne ready to follow your every whim. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Harry pressed their lips together, a few hot tears slipping from his eyes and onto Louis’ cheeks. 

“I love you,” he said softly against Louis’ lips. He brought up his hands between them and slid the ring from his little finger, gently pressing it into Louis’ palm.

“What’s this?” Louis asked, rolling the ring around in his hand.

“I want you to have it,” Harry told him, guiding the sparkling opal stone onto Louis’ finger.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis smiled.

“It was my mother’s.”

Louis looked up at him with glistening eyes.

“ _ Harry _ ...”

“It’s a perfect fit,” Harry smiled softly, bringing Louis’ hand up and pressing his lips over the ring. “It was destined for your finger.”

“It’s  _ beautiful _ .”

“Just like you,” Harry grinned, rolling himself on top of Louis and sealing their lips together.


	12. Louis

     There was a thatch of overgrown honeysuckle in the gardens that was scheduled to be cut back by the end of the day and Louis was determined to cut a bit for Harry before the palace gardeners could get to it. He’d brought a small dagger with him and was slowly hacking through the stems, his fingers getting sticky from it. There were snapdragons and peonies blooming as well, and he thought he might add a few to his handful so that he could offer Harry a nicer bouquet. He’d been bringing Harry flowers more often than not, especially since the night in the tower. He still had yet to take the opal ring from his finger in the week since Harry had placed it there and the prince still pressed his lips against it every time he saw it. Louis had no jewels to offer in return, no valuables to speak of, but he wanted Harry to know that he’d give him the world if he could. In the meantime he’d give him flowers.

     The gardeners were quite protective of their domain, especially the roses, so Louis had to get creative, supplementing the few stray blooms he could knick from the garden with wildflowers and greenery from the forest. One morning he presented Harry with a crown of daisies and clovers he’d picked and braided together, placing it carefully atop his head. Harry had worn it proudly until every petal wilted to a watery grayish mush and then he’d strung it up in the tower to dry out. Other days he’d brought him violets and carnations and camellias, all surrounded by wild lavender and rosemary and woodruff, as well as every rose he could get his hands on. He was sure his fingers were permanently stained green and he’d gotten more thorns in his hands than he could count but it was all worth it to see the delighted smile that Harry wore every time he saw the flowers.

     He was just slicing through the stem of a snapdragon when Niall came barreling into the garden. The squire was panting hard, resting his hands on his knees as he tried and failed to speak. Louis rolled his eyes and straightened out his bouquet while he waited for the boy to catch his breath.

     “Must you run everywhere?” Louis asked. “It’s like you’re in a constant state of emergency.”

     “Tommo they know!” Niall choked out, coughing into his fist. “ _ Shite, _ I’ve just run the length of the castle four times looking for you!”

     “What do you mean ‘ _ they know _ ’?” Louis asked, narrowing his eyes.

     “About you and Harry,” Niall said, his voice finally evening out.

     Louis’ own breath caught in his throat, his heart freezing up.

     “How?”

     “I don’t know,” Niall said, tapping his foot anxiously. “There’s been a lot of rumors about you two going around. Maybe someone finally got some evidence to back it up. And, er, it’s not looking great.”

     “Shit,” Louis muttered, thinking of Harry’s plan to tell the king about them. He hadn’t truly expected him to react poorly, but he must have. He could only imagine how devastated Harry must be to have all of his fears confirmed. “I’ve got to get to Harry, he must be feeling awful.”

     “No,” Niall said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder when he started to move towards the castle. “I, em, I heard some of the guards talking − talking about you, and it didn’t− It didn’t sound...”

     “Spit it out, Niall,” Louis frowned.

     “They were making some sort of a plan,” Niall winced. “They said they’d be coming for you. I don’t know if they meant to take you before the king or, ehm, or worse.”

     “Shit,” Louis muttered. It must have really gone poorly with the king. “ _ Shit. _ ”

     “I think you’d better hide out for a bit,” Niall told him. “Is there anywhere you could go?”

     “Yeah,” Louis nodded, thinking of the tower. He could hide there until nightfall and then ride to the village, hopefully with Harry by his side. “I’ll need to gather a few things. How long do I have?”

     “They’ll be coming quickly,” Niall said. “They don’t like to waste time.”

     “Then I’ll just have to be quick.” Louis clapped his hand on Niall’s shoulder and pressed a hard peck to his cheek before stepping back towards the garden gate. “Thank you for telling me, Squire. I’ll be sure to name a baby or summat after you someday!”

     He ran off towards his rooms, mentally cataloguing what he’d need to take with him. His mother’s lute was in the corner by the bed and he couldn’t bare to leave without it. He’d also need the bundle of letters he’d collected from Harry and the ones from his sisters. He’d better pack a handful of clothes as well, at least enough for Harry to wear in the village. Louis loved his beautiful embroidered finery but he’d stick out like a sore thumb walking through the village in such lovely things. He had an old rucksack under his bed he could use and hopefully he’d be safe in the tower before anyone came looking for him.

     He opened his door and stopped in his tracks when he saw Simon standing by his bed flanked by three men clad in the armor of the castle guards.

_      Shit. _

     “Tommo,” Simon grinned, eyes glinting. “We were hoping you might join us.”

     “Simon,” Louis tipped his head, keeping his tone casual. “Lads. Any reason you’re in my room? I thought room inspections weren’t until next week.”

     “They’re not,” Simon said. “We’re here on other business.”

     “Which is?”

     “A special delivery, courtesy of the king.”

     Simon held out a letter sealed with the royal crest. Louis took it, eyeing the other man wearily before breaking the seal and looking over the note.

_      By order of the king, Louis ‘Tommo’ Tomlinson, jester to the crown prince, shall be relieved of all duties, effective immediately. He shall be escorted outside of the castle to return only by invitation from the king. _

     It was signed by the king himself, the man who Louis had come to see as a sort of a father in his time in the court. He wanted to march up to the man’s thrown and demand to hear how he could change his opinion so quickly and be so close-minded, especially when his own son was involved. Instead he schooled his expression into one of mild surprise.

     “Oh,” he hummed, looking up expectantly. “Any reason for all of this?”

     “It’s the prince,” Simon said blandly. “It seems he’s unsatisfied with your services.”

     “Huh.”

_      Bullshite, _ Louis wanted to say.  _I think you’ll find he’s_ very _  satisfied with my services. _

     He held himself back.

     “What a shame.”

     “Quite,” Simon agreed.

     “Well, I guess I’d better pack up my things,” Louis said, trying to look a bit glum to hide the panic brewing inside of him. “Are we leaving now?”

     “As soon as you’re ready,” Simon nodded.

     “If you’d like to wait outside − ”

     “I think we’ll stay here,” Simon told him. “We haven’t got much time.”

     “Of course.”

     Louis bent to pull the bag from under his bed and began to fold a few shirts, trying to stall as he smoothed out each crease before moving to the next one. Simon sighed impatiently.

     “Just pack your things, Boy.”

     “I am,” Louis said, shoving one of the neatly folded shirts into the bag. He hummed as he did it, trying to look casual. “And the prince, he knows that I’m going?”

     “Yes,” Simon huffed. “He requested your termination.”

     “It’s just that I’d like to apologize,” Louis said, picking up the next shirt. “I’d hate to think that I failed as his jester without saying I was sorry. I must have wasted so much of his time being so unfunny.”

     “You’re wasting our time now,” Simon frowned. “Finish up, or you’ll have to leave without your things.”

     “It’s just, er,” Louis cast about for some method of escape or distraction. “I can’t leave without…” He glanced down to the lute case at his feet. Carefully sliding it under his bed with a free foot, he finished, “Without my lute.”

     “Your lute?” Simon looked exasperated.

     “Yes. It was my mum’s. I simply  _ cannot _ leave without it.”

     “Fine. Where is it?” Simon growled.

     “You know, it’s just down the hall and I can just pop out, grab it and I’ll be right back.”

     “Not on your own you’re not,” Simon scowled. “I’m not a bleeding idiot.”

     He grabbed Louis’ shoulder with a harsh grip and steered him into the hall.

     “Grab the damn lute and get on with it.”

     Louis panicked inwardly as his first attempt failed, Simon hell bent on following him wherever he would attempt to go. He had no real plan of where they would go with no real lute to find. First he hoped one of the maids would perhaps see him being dragged down the hall and make conversation but none appeared. He glanced around desperately, his eyes landing on a set of smaller dingier doors. 

     “Well, where is it?” Simon barked.

     “Just, er, just here.” Louis pointed at the door. 

     “A linen cabinet?” Simon looked entirely unamused.

     “Yes,” Louis said with far more confidence than was warranted.

     “Why, pray tell, is your lute in a linen cabinet?”

     “Thieves.” Louis was sure all this sounded ridiculous but he committed to the word with what he was sure was absolutely riveting passion. 

     “Thieves?” Simon asked incredulously.

     “Yes,” Louis nodded emphatically. “It’s a very nice lute. I’ve got to hide it so nobody takes it.”

     “I see.” Simon did not look as if he saw. 

     Louis pulled open the doors to the entirely unfamiliar cabinet with too much emphasis and a few moth-eaten towels fell off the one shelf within. Luckily for Louis, however, the closet extend far enough to the side that Simon couldn’t see as far in as he could.

     Louis sighed with as much reluctance as he could muster.

     “What is it now, Boy?” Simon tried to push his way past Louis.

     “It’s just, I’ve put it so high up I can barely reach. Maybe with a ladder, or − ”

     “I’ll get it.” Simon wedged between Louis and the doors, marching fully into the closet just as Louis took a step back.

     “Where − ” Simon began, cut off by a loud clatter as Louis slammed the doors shut on him. Leaning on the wooden panels full force, he grabbed his jester’s staff from the waistband of his trousers and pushed it through the handles, securing the doors closed. 

     There was an angry roar from inside as Simon banged his fists against the wood in vain. With each hit the bells dangling from the staff jingled merrily and Simon’s yells became filled with more fury. Despite Simon’s snarled commands and threats, Louis tapped a slightly relieved hand against the door, nodded, and sprinted back down the hall to the main door. Passing the open door to his room, he heard shouts from the three guards within. He quickened his pace, casting a glance over his shoulder as he threw open the door to see a chase beginning.

     Louis ran full out across the grass, wondering how on earth he was supposed to outrun three actual palace guards as he threw his body forward towards the castle. He looked up towards Harry’s window, hoping against hope to see his lovely face looking down at him, but the window was empty. He ran on, searching the grounds for any source of distraction, until his eyes landed on Geraldine and her flock of ducks. He shoved a sweaty-palmed hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of barely, whistling between his teeth as he tossed the grain across the lawn behind him. In an instant the flock of birds were pecking through the grass, swarming just between Louis and the guards who stopped in their tracks.

     “Don’t harm Lady Geraldine!” he heard one of them shout as they picked their way carefully through the birds.

     Louis spared only a quick glance behind him as he barreled into the castle, panting as he started up the stairs to the prince’s chambers. He flew up the steps, his feet barely touching the stones until he reached Harry’s room, throwing open the door without stopping to knock and looking around in a frenzy. The room was empty but for an opened letter crumpled on the floor. Louis knelt down and smoothed out the parchment, scanning his eyes over the note as his stomach filled with unease.

_      H, _

_      I’m leaving my position at the castle and returning to my family in the village. Don’t bother contacting me further. I’ve gotten everything that I wanted here. Thank you again for the ring. _

_      −L _

     Whoever had written it must have found their letters, for it was a decent forgery of his handwriting, even if the content itself was so false. Louis had to find Harry as quickly as possible. The short letter played so perfectly into the insecurities Harry had voiced and Louis feared he could have believed every word. Shoving the letter into his pocket along with the king’s, he made his way back out the door and to the nearest flight of stairs. If Harry was anywhere, he’d be in the tower. Louis’ mind raced with what he could possibly say to convince what he was sure would be a distraught Harry that everything was still just the same, that he felt the same way, but that they had to leave as quickly as possible.

     He scaled the ladder and pushed the trap door open with a small thud, dragging himself into the dusty sunlit room, and saw Harry with his back turned, looking out the tall, ornate window.

     “Harry!” Louis clambered to his feet, rushing to take one of Harry’s hands in his. Harry looked back, wide eyed in surprise. “Harry, it’s not true. I love you. You  _ know _ I love you. More than anything. More than life itself. I would never leave you. I couldn’t even bear the thought. Someone's trying to keep us apart but you have to believe me − !”

     “I believe you.” 

     “I need you to− Oh,” Louis stopped, actually taking in the sight of a tearless, calm, slightly confused looking Harry. “You believe me?”

     “Of course I do,” Harry almost laughed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

     “But the letter− And you said you were scared− And I just thought−”

     “I love you, too.” Harry softly kissed a stuttering Louis’ cheek. 

     “Why did you crumple up the letter?” Louis calmed at Harry’s warm touch.

     “Because it was rubbish,” Harry told him. “Anyone could see that.”

     Louis leaned up to press his lips to Harry’s in a grateful kiss.

     “I’ve got to go, Harry,” he said, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “They gave me a letter from the king, dismissing me from my position, and I don’t think they’ll be so kind about it now that I ran from them. They’ll want my head, but I couldn’t leave without you.”

     “I’ll come with you,” Harry said, leaning their foreheads together. “Anywhere. This castle wouldn’t be home without you in it. I’ll pack a bag this moment if I have to.”

     “Are you sure?”

     Harry nodded.

     “I couldn’t stay here if I wanted to, not knowing my father went to such lengths to seperate us. I’d thought he might understand someday, but it seems I was wrong.”

     “How did he react when you told him?” Louis frowned worriedly.

     “I didn’t,” Harry said. “Somebody else must have. I think some of the guards must have seen us on their rounds. I’d hoped to be the one to tell him, to explain in my own words the way I feel for you, but it seems someone’s already beaten me there.”

     “Shit,” Louis muttered. “It won’t matter soon. None of this will matter.”

     “There’s a feast tonight,” Harry told him. “Some princess from Japan is visiting, everyone will be in the main hall. We could leave then, as soon as the sun sets.”

     “That’s perfect,” Louis kissed him briefly. “I’ll sneak down to the stables once everyone’s gathered and bring Phoenix around the side of the castle. We’ll have to pack light, and I can’t go back to my room, but we might make it out before anyone notices.”

     “I’ll have to go back down to keep appearances up,” Harry began, “but I could stay up here for a bit longer if you’d like?”

     “I would love that,” Louis smiled, relieved, at least for the time being, and kissed him again.

 

     As the sun began to set Harry went down to his rooms to prepare for the feast and Louis was left to pace through the tower, overthinking every aspect of their plan and chewing harshly on his cheek. He waited anxiously for night to come as he watched an endless stream of dignitaries file into the castle from out the window. Finally, an eternity later, the kingdom was cloaked in darkness and the summer stars were shining brightly in the sky. Louis opened the trapdoor with a loud creak and crept down the stairs, his heart racing in his chest. He slid his back along the stone wall, trying his best to stay hidden in the shadows. He ducked behind pillars and stepped lightly through the winding corridors of the castle, his whole body filled with nerves at every little sound.

     He soon was confronted with the fact that he would have to cross the most main hallway if he was ever to make it to the stables. Stealing himself, he began walking as soundlessly as possible across the hall from one door to another. He froze suddenly when he saw one palace guard just exiting the dining hall. Resisting the urge to curse aloud he tried to carefully make a retreat. He failed. 

     “Hey!” came a shout behind him with a sudden beat of footsteps.

     Louis sprinted back down the hall, stopping in his tracks when a hoard of guards rounded the corner just in front of him.

     “ _ Shit _ .”

     Louis swiftly ducked around one armored guard and slid down between the legs of another, popping up and leaping fully over the head of one man before someone caught him around the throat and shoved him roughly to the ground.

     Louis coughed harshly before pulling himself backwards, to his credit still trying to get away.

     “Lads,” Louis started, even in times of crisis trying to talk his way around things. “Let’s think about this for a moment.”

     Everyone paused. Louis had not planned what to say after that, and took the opportunity to crabwalk frantically across the cold stone floor before he was once again tackled to the ground. He cried out as the guards pressed him down with their full force. He went limp in defeat, knowing he couldn’t fight off so many men at once.

     “Unhand him,” came a steely voice from above.

     Louis looked up in awe to see Harry standing over them all with his gleaming gold crown circling his head and his sword stretched out in front of him, pointing straight at the throat of the man pinning Louis to the floor. He was a beautiful vision clad in shining scarlet satin, standing like the statue of some wrathful god.

     “Your Majesty,” the man choked, eyes wide.

     “ _ Unhand him _ ,” Harry said again, his eyes glittering dangerously.

     The men fumbled to comply, dropping away from Louis and backing up into a loose circle around him. Harry grabbed Louis by the arm and drug him up and behind him, angling his body protectively as he leveled his sword around at each guard.

     “Just what did you think you were doing?” he snarled, keeping his back pressed against Louis’ chest.

     “We had orders from the king, Your Majesty,” one said, bewildered. “We were told to take him to the dungeons.”

     Harry let out an exasperated sort of growl and spun on his heel, dragging Louis along with him as he marched into the great hall, throwing the doors open dramatically as they went. The crowded hall packed with nobility went silent as people swiveled their heads to watch them.

     “Father,” Harry called, striding briskly down the center of the hall towards the head table. “Call off your guards.”

     He flung his sword down at his father’s feet with a sharp clang.

     The king looked up from his meal with a start, furrowing his brows at the ruckus and dropping his jaw in shock.

     Harry, always so withdrawn and lamblike, was standing with his back straight and a bright burning fire in his eyes as he stared down his own father before the court.

     “Call them off this instant. What sort of a king would stoop so low as to persecute an innocent man for his own beliefs? You may not like it but I − ” he faltered for the first time, glancing back at Louis who wove their fingers together and squeezed reassuringly. “I  _ love _ Louis, more than I’ve ever loved anything. More than anyone has ever loved. Just as Achilles had Patroclus, so do I have Louis, and as long as I live no harm shall befall him in this kingdom. Now call off your guards, or I swear you’ll never see me again. Do you really think my mother would have stood for this?”

     “My Dear Boy,” King Robin began, speaking slowly as he looked between the two of them, “however you feel about young Tommo is your own business − and I can assure you that all of that is well and good − but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

     Harry frowned, looking back at Louis with furrowed brows.

     “You dismissed Louis,” he said suspiciously. “You called for his imprisonment when he didn’t leave.”

     “I did no such thing,” the king said bemusedly. He looked to Gemma beside him who shook her head, looking just as shocked.

     “I’ve got a letter here from you, Sir,” Louis said, pulling it from his pocket and unfolding it before handing it over to the king.

     Robin looked it over with a frown before handing it off to Gemma.

     “It’s a forgery,” he declared, causing a gasp to ripple across the room.

     “But who−?” Harry began, looking lost.

     “Simon gave me the letter,” Louis told them. “He said it was from you.”

     Robin pointed to Liam standing at the side of the room and beckoned him closer.

     “Sir Payne, please find Sir Cowell and bring him here.”

     “Right away, Your Majesty.”

     Liam tipped his head and ran off. Robin turned back to Harry, his eyes earnest.

     “Did you truly believe that I would fight so hard to stamp out your happiness, after trying so long to get it back?”

     “I − ” Harry stammered, suddenly so hesitant. “I just thought− After Bartholomew left− I just assumed...”

     “Bartholomew?” Robin asked, looking confused. “The Lord of Retrouvailles?”

     “Yes,” Harry nodded. “He was sent away when we were found out. We were, em, courting. Secretly.”

     “I never knew,” Robin told him, his face open. “I swear it. I’d have stopped it if I did.”

     “ _ Harry, _ ” Gemma said softly, voice full of understanding.

     Harry swiped over his eyes roughly with the back of his hand and shrugged. Louis slid a soothing arm around his waist and squeezed his hip gently.

     “We’ll find whoever did this,” Gemma promised them stonily. “They’ll be banished from the court − From the kingdom, if I’ve got any say in it.”

     Robin agreed completely, stepping around the table and wrapping Harry in a tight hug that Gemma was quick to join.

 

     From the dramatic events of the dining hall Gemma was quick to tactfully invite all the guests to the ballroom for light dancing to end the evening. Although Harry and Louis were invited to join the festivities, they opted to curl up by one of the fireplaces scattered about and hoard the miniature desserts being carried about the party. Upstairs, Robin dealt with the Simon debacle, learning all about how he’d stolen letters from Louis’ room and concocted a scheme to send him away just as he had Bartholomew, all because of the hatred filling his heart and his own chronic humbuggery.

     Many of the guests who had been present during the evenings revelations stopped by Harry and Louis’ corner to wish them well or to stop and chat. Even the visiting princess came to congratulate, offering them stay at her palace if ever they wished to visit. Harry, seated comfortably on Louis’ lap for most of the evening, reveled in each casual discussion he had and each time he could introduce Louis as his suitor to a new dignitary. Besides a few odd glances when their kisses got a bit heated for a formal setting, no one seemed to mind them at all. 

     Towards the end of the evening, the two decided to slip away from the guests and walk the grounds before bed, arm in arm, positively radiating happiness. On their way, they passed Squire Niall chatting enthusiastically − and quite possibly drunkenly − with Lord Mendez. Just as they stepped onto the stone path to the garden they saw Zayn unlocking the door of the armory. Louis grabbed Harry’s arm with a mischievous grin as Harry tried to suppress laughter beside him.

     “Zayn!” Louis waved down the reluctant stylist. “Fancy meeting you out here! What are you up to so late in the evening? Still hard at work, I suppose.”

     Zayn closed his eyes and let out a deep breath before finally greeting them.

     “Hello, Louis. Hello, Your Highness. I was just fetching some things to repair.” 

     A very, very loud clanking noise echoed from inside the armory. 

     “I see,” Louis said, coughing to avoid laughing after Harry poked him in the ribs. 

     “Best of luck,” Harry grinned. He and Louis took another few steps towards the garden but stopped in their tracks when more clanks of what was definitely armor rang out, directly followed by an unmistakably Liam voice muttering “ _ oh, shit! _ ”

     Harry and Louis ran away laughing at Zayn’s utter exasperation, and even after they picked out a grassy place to sit towards the center of the garden they could hear Zayn’s irritated voice saying “ _ you fucking dolt” _ carried on the summer breeze.

     “I hope we didn't get them in trouble.” Harry wiped away the few tears brought on by so much laughing.

     “I hope they take this as an opportunity to sort themselves out.” Louis laid on his back in the cooling grass. Harry lay down beside him, tucking his head against Louis’ shoulder and looking up at the twinkling stars spread out above them.

     “What do we do now?” Harry asked, nudging Louis’ foot with his own. “Now that everybody knows. Will you become the prince’s courtier?”

     “If that’s what you’d like me to be,” Louis smiled.

     “I just want you,” Harry told him, rolling on his side so they lay nose-to-nose. “However I can have you.”

     “I’m yours,” Louis promised, tracing his fingers over the blue ribbon at Harry’s neck. “We can sort out the rest later.”

     Harry leaned forward and kissed Louis lazily, as if they had all the time in the world, melting together beneath the summer stars.

 

_      The End _


	13. Epilogue

     Rain was coming down in icy sheets, drenching Harry through and turning his long brown curls into a slick lacquer that clung to his cheeks and hung over his eyes. He stopped again to push his hair behind his ears to no avail, only adding streaks of mud to his face. He pulled his thick wool coat more tightly around him and latched the gate to the goat pen, hoping that Olivia and Rosaline would be warm enough for the night. He’d filled their enclosure with soft hay and old burlap sacks to insulate it as best he could against the chill but he still worried they’d be too cold. Autumn had swiftly turned to winter and he was sure that by the end of December the goats would be spending their nights inside by the fire.  
     He stepped away from the small barn and pushed back his hair again, huffing in frustration when it fell back across his face. He jumped a bit when he felt warm hands at the nape of his neck.  
     “Here,” he heard Louis smile behind him, tying his hair back with an old ribbon. “You should have waited for me, Darling.”  
“It was getting cold,” Harry told him, turning around to greet him with a kiss, their breaths mingling in a small cloud of heat between them. “I was afraid to leave them out too long.”  
     “They know to go inside when the rain starts,” Louis said, wiping a streak of mud from Harry’s cheek. “Have you counted the chickens?”  
     “I was about to.”  
     They walked together to the small chicken coop, their hands linked between them. After months of handling animals and digging in the dirt Harry’s hands had hardened from the soft pink state they’d always been in to a rougher callused one. It had felt strange at first, like he was using someone else’s hands, but Louis had just kissed his fingers, rubbing cream into his weathered knuckles, and told him that the calluses came with the cottage.  
     “All there,” Louis said when they ducked into the chicken coop and saw the hens asleep at their roosts.  
     “And Lady Geraldine?”  
     “Safe inside.”  
     Louis held the door for Harry and took his coat, hanging it with his own on the hooks on the wall. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace just as always and Geraldine was perched on the back of her favorite chair beside it. Ophelia, the old cat they’d adopted from a neighbor, was asleep on the hearth only inches from the flames. There was a fresh bouquet of roses on the small wooden dining table that hadn’t been there when Harry went outside, its petals still coated in drops of rain. Louis was always stopping for flowers on the way home from his shop.  
     Harry had been terrified when he told Gemma and his father that he wanted to leave the castle, still coming to terms with their acceptance of him and Louis, but they’d both agreed that they’d do anything to make him happy. They’d offered him a smaller castle in Italy or France but Harry had refused, still fixed on his dream of a small cottage in the woods. He and Louis had searched across the kingdom until they found the abandoned little house, like something from a faerie story, and fallen in love with it. They’d spent all of August fixing it up with the backing of the royal family and in no time at all it was theirs.  
     “Some more letters from your sisters came today,” Harry hummed when they’d settled together by the fire, curled up on the old couch they’d drug close enough that their feet could rest by the hearth. “It seems Lottie’s loving her life as a lady-in-waiting.”  
     “They all love the castle,” Louis smiled, tightening his arms around Harry. He carded his fingers through his still-wet curls, a fews strands catching on his opal ring. “I doubt Fizzy’s left the library since they arrived.”  
     “It’ll be good to see them again,” Harry said, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. “Gemma sent another letter about her coronation. Apparently our father hired a dressmaker who concocted some atrocious thing for her to wear and Zayn is frantically trying to fix it for her.”  
     “I wish he wouldn't,” Louis chuckled. “I’d like to see it first.”  
     “She also said that they’ve hung my new portrait.”  
     “Oh?”  
     Louis leaned down to kiss him, pulling him more securely into his lap.  
     Before they moved into their cottage they’d sat for Harry’s updated portrait, which the prince had insisted Louis be a part of. Louis had tormented Harry for hours with quiet jokes and jabs at the artist to make him laugh. Each time the man painting them would huff out an annoyed sigh and direct them back to their poses. In the end he unveiled a large and beautifully painted portrait of Harry sitting and looking forward with only a slight scrunch to his nose while Louis stood just behind his right shoulder looking down at him with a small lopsided smile pulling at his lips and a look of adoration in his eyes.  
     “I can’t wait to see it again,” Louis smiled, brushing his lips over the blue satin ribbon at Harry’s throat.  
     “It’s been too long since we’ve visited,” Harry sighed, winding his fingers in Louis’ hair. “We haven’t been back since Zayn and Liam’s wedding.”  
     “Far too long,” Louis agreed. “The castle must be deteriorating every day from sorrow, missing having such a beautiful princess within her walls.”  
     “Quiet,” Harry groaned, flopping back against the couch.  
     “Never,” Louis swore, crawling over him and hovering with their lips just a breath apart. “Such a lovely maiden deserves to hear her praises sung every day. I could sing for real if you’d like? Would you prefer an accompaniment of lute or piano? I’ve been meaning to try out that viola Gemma sent me, maybe I could use that...”  
     “You’re a fool,” Harry laughed, linking his arms behind Louis’ head.  
     “Only for you, My Love,” Louis promised, lowering himself down and pressing their lips together. “Only ever for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for leaving such sweet lovely comments as we've been posting this! There may or may not be some extra F4U bits posted later on in my [tag on tumblr](http://lesbianiconharrystyles.tumblr.com/tagged/fool-for-you) because there have been a few mini scenes that were planned out early on that didn't make it into the actual fic that we're still very attached to so I might post those as blurbs, and I've got lots of little illustration doodles and character sketches <3 <3 <3


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